A Fair Deal
by all-in-time
Summary: Another divergence from the episode 4.06 Servant of Two Masters. Darkish. Merlin is captured. Emrys is revealed in dreams. Morgana can put two and two together. A fair duel is agreed on. No lies, no disguises this time. Angsty. Merlin/Morgana. Multi-chapter. Completed.
1. In the Hovel

_Another divergence from the episode 4.06 Servant of Two Masters. Darkish. Merlin is captured. Emrys is revealed in dreams. Morgana can put two and two together. A fair duel is agreed on. No lies, no disguises this time. Angsty. Eventual Merlin/Morgana. Multi-chapter._

Rating: T, just to be sure.

Diclaimer: Not mine, no profit.

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**In the Hovel**

. . .

His hands tied, dripping wet, he stands wounded in her hovel. Morgana's eyes glint gold, ready to cast, and he closes his own, prepared for ... nothing.

"Really?" Morgana emits a laughter, sharp and incredulous. "You'd rather die than use your magic? Or is it simply because of _me_?" Her smile is narrow, suggestive. There's no humour left in it.

"Morgana - ," he begins, eyes open again.

"_Emrys_." She answers, so close her to him that words bounce right off his cheek. His shoulders tense, then relax. The cuffs snap open with a click. There's no point in denying. _He's tired of lying._

She stands back a little even as she sees him sag on a stool and rub his sore wrists. For some reason, he can't bring himself to look at her. The situation is vaguely familiar. Though there's no poison involved, and she's no helpless maiden, they both know only one can walk out here alive.

Morgana laughs again, shakily, for fear, so treacherous, is raising its head. She will have none of it. "What, you want to murder me again, so soon?"

His watery blue eyes dart up a little too fast to her liking, to completely be a lie. She tuts in disbelief. "Without even bothering to explain?"

Merlin regains his strained voice. "It's pointless... talking to you, Morgana. You see only what you want to see now, nothing can convince you otherwise. All you can do is harm." Then, more quietly. "I would have died for you, once. Now, I..." The implication dies on his lips. It's still too fresh. The reveal.

Morgana takes a seat opposite of his. The wooden table is uneven and rough, almost ugly. But that is her life nowadays, mostly because of him. She'd point it out, but it's meaningless now. She does not need his pity.

"Well, you have tried to before, what makes you think you'll succeed?" She talks to him, making it harder. "I'm not defenceless anymore."

"Good." He stares ahead, weakly. It sounds like he means it. For a while, nothing happens. The air is cold, and both of them shiver. With a glimpse of an eye flames lick up in the hearth. It could have been her doing, but she sees his eyes catch gold and die. It's fast and instinctive, like a second nature of his.

Morgana will say nothing. They both realize it's the first time he's openly used magic in front of her. It's a both liberating and sorrowful act.

Bearing in mind the coming battle, she tries to remember everything she's knows about the sorcerer Emrys, and paste it onto him. _Merlin_. His face and that name feel foreign somehow.

"At least we can have a fair duel. The poison works just once, you know."

He nods, for both. His despondency makes it seem like she's already dead. _Is it really that certain? _Morgana stifles an involuntary shudder. _Was it always like that? Who else had he killed?_ No.

Morgana silences those voices. She won't let him get to her.

"No, it's not easy." He answers, staring ahead, into the fire._ Anywhere but her._ "And no, I try to avoid it as far as possible. And there have been a few." His jaw twitches but he's not crying, not this time.

"You read minds?"

"Only when addressed in magic."

She pulls back. She does not want that happen again. His guilt makes her sick in the stomach. _Who else had he betrayed? Friends? Lovers?_

He shakes his head to that line of thought. "Only you."

Morgana sniffles a laughter. She feels like going mad again, or maybe it's the adrenaline in her blood. She looks at the door, it's hopelessly far. There's nowhere to run, even if he'd let her. She feels properly trapped - like a fox in her own hole. She laughs, again.

Merlin looks up this time, and it's not a relief. Not with all the mourning behind his eyes. Who knew a murderer's eyes can carry so much sorrow? Or maybe, she hadn't looked well enough to this day. _What else has she missed?_

"I'm not dead yet," she prompts then, avoiding that glare. She is a powerful sorceress in her own right. If only Merlin cared about his own life as much. It would level the playing field, at least.

"No," he agrees again, again in that terrible voice. Morgana wants it gone.

"Where shall we do it?" She looks around, almost merrily. "I'd say here, but I'll have an unfair advantage." She points at the rows of shelves, laden with books and potions and things inside the jars. "Besides, while you may be gone, I still need the place."

"No. Outside, in the woods."

His eyes light up a little, and it's more than suspicious. _What happened to all his regret? Or is he entering his fight mode?_

Morgana nods.

"I know a spot."

* * *

Morgana offers her prayers to the Triple Goddess for a blessing, a short prayer for her sister, beyond the veil. _All will be well. All -_

"We need some rules, first - " he interrupts her session, her holy rite. She shoots an angry glare, but gets up from her knees, closes the altar. The scented smoke hangs in the air between them, purifying it. He prayed to no one. Perhaps no one will come to his help. _Or perhaps he won't need it. _Talking about overconfident.

"And what might they be?" she asks, hiding her nerves.

"No additional weapons, no tools, no creatures of magic..." He pauses, significantly. "Just us, and our spells."

"Anything else?" She drops the bag she was holding.

"If... either of us perishes. I would like you to take me back to Camelot."

She smirks. He's thinking of death, after all. _His_ death, no less.

"My pleasure."

"And... The same for you?"

"That won't be necessary. But for your knowledge, I would choose to rest by the side of my father. The one I loved, Gorlois_,_" she clarifies. Talking about burial won't be putting her at any ease. The image of their two graves feels too real, too palpable.

"I promise," he vows.

She wonders who'd visit her there. Merlin, the culprit, to bury her. Maybe Arthur, if he's sentimental enough. Aggravaine. That's it. No one else. Just some moss growing over the stones, with no one left to clean them. Soon time will make them forget, as they did her father.

"Morgana, it doesn't have to be like this." Merlin moves closer to her again. Almost touching her arm. She pulls away before it can happen. His hand drops in defeat. She finds herself sneering at him.

"Afraid?"

"For you, yes. You know who I am, it's been foretold. I've been using magic my whole life. You've only just begun... I don't want to see you hurt."

Morgana stares at him, merciless. She's steeled herself to his words, and they bounce right off her.

"I pity you, for you spend an awful lot of time doing things you claim not to want."

He holds her gaze, for a very long while, before he gives up. Then, holds a hand for the door for invitation. Ladies first. _Hopefully, not this time._

"Come on, then."

Standing to leave, Morgana casts one last look at her room.

It's a pitiable place, really. No better than a shack, and before her sister's injuries, she would have never submitted herself to thinking of such a place as her home. Yet now, emotions wash over her, as she looks over her shoulder... the bed she slept in, her woolen scarf, the bowl she ate from, the rabbit she'd planned to cook... How strange to think she might not be here to use them, to ever touch them again.

She quickly sheds those thoughts.

For she might still avert her _doom_. She's going to win.

* * *

**A/N: I've decided to run it a bit different course than other fics I've read. Morgana may seem less aggressive and Merlin more calculating, but it's only surface deep. I'm counting on the reveal and her fear of Emrys and the prophecy. She must have a plan, or if not... then Merlin at least.**

Reviews are very welcome and will help me write and update sooner. Hope you've enjoyed!


	2. In the Battle

A/N: Thank you for commenting and following! First confrontation is here.

Sacred3: Yes, the Merlin/Morgana pairing is always there, whichever way I write them - it could hardly be otherwise, with Colin and Katie as the actors. But here, they've discovered they're also each other's mortal enemies, and the core of this story is this predicament of theirs. What I _do_ promise is unhealthy amounts character interaction, all those sparks and tension from the show will be explored further. No tiptoeing around the matter!_  
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**In the Battle**

. . .

The forest floor is covered with leaves from last year. They rustle under her feet, brown and mossy, and their smell brings about many memories. Morgana strides right through them, her coat shuffling behind, bits and pieces cling to the her skirts. Such rough fabric on the surface, yet so soft and warm inside. Ideal for winters in this wild terrain. _Since when did she become so practical?_ They both know when.

Morgana wonders, briefly, what kind of life she would lead, had Merlin never existed. Had he never come to Camelot, or stayed in Ealdor with his mother, or chosen someplace else to plague with his presence - anywhere but there. Sure enough, he saved Arthur more than a few times and hence, the Kingdom. But other than that, would it really affect her? If anything, she'd be closer to the throne, saner in her mind. But... No matter now. It will all soon be over.

The sun filters through the roofless forest, peering down at them: her two steps ahead, Merlin in tow.

Her voice is light, teasingly sensual. "Such perfect day for you. A nice day to die."

Merlin has not spoken for a while. Brooding. Plotting perhaps. "You can't know that for sure."

"True," Morgana acquiesces, glancing behind. He's become entirely unreadable to her. "It might still turn to rain."

A grim chuckle behind her chills her to the core, but she won't show it.

They'll arrive at the clearing any moment now. White flowers freckle the grass outside a shallow ring, some hundred paces in diameter. It is told that a falling star once landed here. People came to see the wonder, and piece by piece carried it away. Swords of its steel can even be found in Camelot. In the vaults, of course, for Uther suspected some magical properties. Burning stones and all.

"Nice place," Merlin says, glancing around, like he's arrived at a picnic.

Morgana smirks, lifting her right hand. "Are these your last words?"

Yet, without opening his mouth, he hurls her backwards across the plain. The force that spins her is so strong that all air seems to be sucked out of her, her limbs fill with lead as her back hits the first surrounding tree with a sickening crunch. When she lands on the ground again, it feels almost soft. Cradling.

Half-knocked out, she barely hears his steps, the tell-tale rustle of grass. _He's coming for me_, she thinks. Lifting her head, she sees him approaching, yet still too far to aim.

Dropping again, Morgana thinks fast. The druids were right. He's more powerful than anything she's seen or known before. Even Morgause. Even _herself_.

The memory fills her with regret. Nothing could have prepared her for this. She knows the spell he used on her, one designed to stun. To really be able to kill with it, one would need to set an incredibly powerful blast at close range, something that Merlin had just succeeded in.

And to think he might be holding back, still.

She counts the steps, then: _wáce ierlic._ An unsuspecting Merlin is picked up four feet and dropped on the ground. There's a loud groan, and she stumbles up as quickly as she manages.

His jacket is flung open, exposing his red shirt, through which Morgana sees the open wound. He is yet to tend to it properly, probably he's been masking the pain throughout the way with his silence and sombre stares. There's still hope for her.

_"Awendaþ eft..."_

But Merlin beats her to it._ "Ic þé wiþdrífe."_

For the second time, she's twisted and turned in the air. Landing is just as rough, and she's even more stunned. If it weren't for her healing bracelet, she would have not be able to stand this. But she does, and she rises, covered in dirt and leaves. He looks impressed. She has no time to care.

_"Eorðe, lyft, fyr, wæter, hiersumaþ me. Eorðe ac stanas hiersumaþ me. Ic can stanas tobrytan. Hiersumaþ me..."_

She's conjuring an elemental spell, and it's barely finished when the earth starts shaking under their feet, the strange metals in its soil acting as a catalyst, and for a moment, it spins out of her control, and into something more menacing.

For a moment, she thinks the ground will swallow them whole - both dead, both victorious. The white flowers will grow over them, seasons will pass, and no one will know what happened. She'd be stuck with him for all eternity. _No_...

_"Allinan_," Merlin puts an end to this. The earth stills, and she collapses to the ground, like an emptied vessel, magic only slowly seeping back. Footsteps come closer. Then stop. He lowers himself down to her side.

"You overloaded. Always so rash." She hears, and Morgana can't see the face that speaks it. "A fatal flaw of yours."

"A bit too late for lessons, Merlin."

A head-splitting pain washes over her like nausea, as she wills herself to move. _Rise, get up now, rise!_

"As if you'd listen." He's sounding almost friendly. And it is _that_ bad - the tone you use with harmless prey. _There, now, Guinevere, there. _The irony.

The leaves have settled. As has her fate. Morgana smells blood and earth, and a strange kind of lightning in the air, like just before a thunderstorm. Her eyes closed, she remembers the Goddess, the ancient rituals, becoming a high priestess on the Isle of the Blessed. The rip in the veil and Cailleach's words. The horrible prophecy that it is now about to come true. With unwanted tears streaking her cheeks, one thought, so horrifyingly human, takes over. - _I don't want to die._

His voice speaks of remorse.

"I'm sorry, Morgana, I did not mean to hurt you so much."

A hand that's not her own crazes her cheek. Barely brushing. She's trembling all over her body, like a wounded doe.

She reaches for the dagger in her bodice...

Then, everything goes blank.

* * *

She wakes to being carried on horseback, flung over the saddle on her stomach. A horse that she recognizes as hers. She lifts her head and tries to move, but something stronger than ropes are keeping her in place. A terrifying idea that she's nicked her back, her very spinal column, floods her reality like tidal wave. Morgana starts thrashing, the horse neighs. A hood is removed from her head, revealing Merlin's apologetic face.

She fights the urge to spit at it. Instead, she casts a spell._ "Hleap on bæc."_

Nothing happens. A new sort of panic, laced with anger, takes hold of her.

"What have you done with my magic?" she hisses, when he helps her off the horse. She slumps on the ground like a rag-doll. The place they've arrived is vaguely familiar. - They can't be that far yet.

She hates the look he's giving her. A look of pity.

"A simple binding spell. I thought you'd know it already. After all, it's not completely... _safe._ There's too much control involved, and it ties you to another user - you'll need twice as much power to contain it, and even then you - "

"Stop bragging and untie me."

Merlin does only the first. Starts busying himself with the harnesses. Her head and neck hurt. Her bound legs and arms are confused and take time to respond, but they do. She can barely stand. Not strong enough to swing a sword, she tries anyway.

"No," he warns, belatedly. She settles back.

Merlin takes pots and pans, a thin mat and blankets. They're not hers, but not his either.

Morgana glares up at him, her hands tied with rips of fabric. She never knew Merlin had such kinks.

"You promised me a fair fight."

"Which I gave you. And now I'm giving you even more - a chance."

"A chance for what?"

Merlin is not answering, as he takes his pans to the river.

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**A/N: These chapters are short, but they're coming along pretty fast. Next chapter is half-written, and will be posted soon****. Expect emotional confrontations, more snark and bite, we might also get a glimpse what exactly Merlin has in mind for her. Spells found via Merlin Wiki.**

As always, thank you for following and drop a review to let me know what you think! : )


	3. In the Wake

A/N: Thank you for following and commenting! Yes, the earth spell was from Nimueh. It seemed fitting, since both were high priestesses of the Old Religion, and therefore should be learned in similar kinds of spells (except Morgana botched hers).

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**In the Wake**

. . .

"Are you going to kill me?" she asks the glowing embers, when bonfire has burned low. It's been hours now. He's been healing his wound steadily, relieving his pain with magic. Her fear is all gone now. Like wine from Uther's chalice. And yet, the lack of confirmation puts her on the edge.

"No."

Morgana actually laughs. "How weak you are, _Emrys_."

"My only weakness, Morgana..." Merlin growls, low and dangerous, "is that we were once friends. That you weren't always like that. You -" He stops, shaking his head for the thousandth time this day. He won't give in to another argument.

Morgana is curious though, wanting to know more. So she keeps pushing it.

"I would have killed you."

"Oh, I doubt that."

He ignores her, eyes on the ground, stirring the pot.

"Do you really think me that weak?" she moves in with a thinly-veiled smile. He's conveniently close. She reaches between her bodice, the small stash for...

"Looking for this?"

Merlin grins and dangles her dagger between two fingers. It melts into a spoon before her very eyes.

Morgana stares at the blunted instrument, his mischievous grin, and returns a smile of her own. A much grimmer one. She wants to take the forged item and claw his eyes out. Dip him into the boiling stew. She wants all of this and much more, but it's too risky. There's too much to lose, and she wants him to lower his guard first.

A silence settles again. Reluctantly, she's starts eating. She needs all her strength, after all.

"I don't think you're weak," he admits, finally, when she's already forgotten the question. "I think you're human. Underneath it all."

"Then, release me." She balances the spoon with both hands. It's awkward and uncomfortable.

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Cause no matter what I do, you'll keep trying." Merlin puts his stew down. "You've chained me up in your hovel. You've reached your hand for something you have no right to. Arthur is a fair king, and would have made peace with our kind if-"

"I don't _care_ about your blasted peace," she practically shouts. Then, regaining her demeanor, "If you're so certain he'll accept you, why not tell him about your magic, the killings you do for him, see exaclty how much he appreciates it?"

Merlin is very quiet. Her heart soars at this small kind of victory. His jaw is very square when tensed. "I will, one day."

"Just like you told me?"

Merlin's mouth opens and closes.

"I'm sorry."

* * *

Morgause once told her, a woman is never unarmed. Morgana thinks back, unsure if she'd like to employ these particular tactics in question. Or whether it would even work on Merlin. Some men are... less easily persuaded. And he spends all his time following Arthur. Does he even _like_ women?

"Did you ever...?" she begins, for sleep is not coming. And she's running out of insults to throw.

"Did I what?" he asks, tired, staring into the campfire. Sleep is assaulting him, but he has to keep watch. She might be tied up, but that does not mean she won't try and escape during the night. _The extent of their shared trust is_ _astounding_. And now, he's looking at her - all puzzled. She sits up, her cloak falling behind. His glance wanders over the bodice, settling somewhere between her chin and her bosom. Almost innocent. _Certainly not._

He looks away, unresponsive. It's quite convincing, but Morgana sees the pulse on his neck, throbbing a beat faster than her own. Thump, thump, thump.

_Interesting._

Armed with that knowledge, she inches further, settles against his arm. He does not trust her intentions for a single moment, but he won't push her away either. Not when she's like this. Wounded and friendly. Morgana smirks. It's like their own twisted version of damsel in distress and knight it shining armour. She doesn't laugh, for it would break the spell.

Birds cackle in the forest around them. It's a small sound, no threat in it. Her bosom is cool in the evening air. Merlin is surprisingly warm, and comfortable. His shoulder is sharp and bony, like she'd imagined, like it should be. She wonders if the rest is as well.

The boy can't relax. She understands why.

Needless to say, she's not really going to offer her favours. Her prize is hers to keep. Morgause taught her that much. Men are weaker that way - they want to take, desire too much, to a point it clouds their judgement. Swallowing their minds like mists do Avalon.

Now, thinking of Merlin as a _man_, not a simple servant, is _new_. And quite puzzling. And yet again, he is _Emrys_, and therefore beyond all mortals.

"Morgana." His voice is rough, shackled. "You should get some sleep." He moves away - away from her, the false peace that's in her eyes. He sees right through it. Always has.

"Well, then." She settles over his mat - no matter how much she loathes him, she sleeps better knowing his moves, when and where he goes. Besides, she's bridled by arms and legs, virtually harmless without her magic. Merlin looks at her, just once, and there's sadness and longing he's not prepared to address.

_"Swefe nu,"_ he utters, and once again, her vision is taken from her.

* * *

In the morning, the chill bites hard down her neck. She awakens with a jolt, to find herself bound and Merlin meddling around. Morgana observes him through hooded lashes: such ridiculous vessel for a power so great. Then, memories of last night make themselves known. Then... dismay and disappointment. Once again he's used magic against her.

"You knocked me out." Morgana's jaw drops in dismay and disappointment.

"Enchanted you," he corrects, looking up - almost cheerfully.

"You..." A hundred images run through her mind, and one, the worst of them all. "You had me helpless, without my..."

Merlin blushes, or maybe it's the anger that flares so bright. "If you're implying I took advantage of you, keep dreaming. I'm not _that_ kind of man, whatever you may expect."

Morgana stands up, offended despite herself.

"And what kind of man are you, Emrys? The one that steals women and keeps them tied at night?"

She's trying to piss him off, spewing half-truths and from the look of it, it's working. A lark tweets somewhere above. Merlin saunters up to her her, livid, won't even say a word. Such impressive self-control, she muses. He would never break under her will. Though she might try.

When he turns to roll up the mat, scatter the ashes, he won't look at her. It makes her feel better, somehow. She understands anger, thrives in it.

* * *

They've ridden for over half an hour. She's seated sideways, on the saddle, but it's Merlin who is holding the reigns of both horses. Black and white. How symbolic. At last, the silence becomes too much.

"Where are you taking me? To Camelot?"

"No. Not to Arthur. They wouldn't want you there, and I promised not to get you killed."

"_Pardon me_," she answers, mock-apologetic. "It's hard to tell who to trust these days."

He looks at her, and she swears something flashes between them. An emotion, doubt, suspicion.

"You're pathetic."

"Beause I didn't kill you?"

"No. Because you're full of lies. You say you can't help me, then come out with all this magic. You say I can trust you, then you poison me. You say you will fight me, but here I am tied up. You're going stop me, yet here I am, alive and breathing. Can't you do even one thing right?"

Merlin is unperturbed by her tirade. "Only you would see kindness as a flaw."

Morgana laughs, a sound so sudden her steed skips a step. "Merlin, you don't know the first thing about kindness, or our kind."

"I know what it's like to stand alone. What it means to find someone like you, and to lose them thereafter. You have no idea how many times I wanted to leave it all behind. Camelot, Uther, the killings. Yet, I stood my ground. With no one forcing me to."

"Then why did you? Why not overthrow Uther and force magic back?"

"I do not expect you to understand. You have no sense of duty, no sense of loyalty."

Morgana flinches. She wants to reach out, to grab his shirt with both hands and shake him hard. Instead, she straightens, her voice low and trembling. "You're wrong. Don't think I don't understand loyalty just because I've got no one left to be loyal to."

"You did once, but you gave it all up. And for what? For this. To die in the shrubbery?"

"None of us can choose our Destiny, Emrys. Besides, I would never trade what I've learned for any of those miserable years in Camelot."

"Were they all so miserable?"

Morgana won't answer that. He already knows the answer.

Their conversation dead, the road stretches ahead and they think, both in their separate worlds. At length, worry pulls her out of her silence.

"So what's the plan? You won't kill me, and you won't hand me to Arthur. My magic is strong. You can't keep me bound forever. Let me go and I _will_ get you. I swear this on my father's grave. I will tell Arthur and anyone who will listen. Soon the world will know your true face."

She eggs him on without hesitation, pleased to see his face harden yet a little bit more. Wake up, Merlin.

"I could fix that part."

Morgana's mouth drops open. He can't be implying. "A purge? You want to take my mind?"

If this was being vulnerable, what then... she'd be just as helpless, with no knowledge of who she was and what she could do. No knowledge of magic. It's like turning back time three years.

"No." She does not want to go back there.

"You're leaving me no choice, Morgana."

"Then, kill me. I'd rather die."

He seems shocked, sad even. That same sickening look of pity, when he held her in the throne room.

"Morgana..."

"NO!"

She lashes out, the ropes around her wrist loosen. She's free, almost... Leaping off the saddle, Morgana darts for the woods, when a heavy spell catches her, breaks her run. She slumps to the lumpy mattress of the moor, watches him catch up again. She hears him call out.

"Morgana, listen to me, I'm not going to hurt you."

_"Get away from me,"_ she whispers, and the spell that binds her rips open.

* * *

**A/N: As you see, I've rehashed some lines from the actual episode that otherwise wouldn't have existed, and there was some gold. I will try to keep the characters as they were, with an added twist - to force them act on this conflict and come to some sort of a decision. Also, the slashy undertones was just tongue-in-cheek from Morgana, a small wink at the fandom. That's all.**

Reviews are a lovely, share your opinion, or just what you liked, it's all appreciated ; )


	4. In the Lake

A/N: Thank you again for reading and commenting! Now, a brief glimpse of Merlin's point of view, a quite another level of angst.

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**In the Lake**

. . .

_Get away from me._ Her words sting still, though he's been bitten before.

Merlin is running through the mossy woods looking for the tracks she's made. Rips of cloth that bound her litter the ground. Morgana is nowhere in to be seen. He just stops, and waits. Behind his closed lids, he can still feel her essence - the magic of her being, just barely out of sight - pumping away... with fear.

He was prepared for some resistance from her side, but the half-formed plan he'd presented her scared her completely out of her wits, awakened her will for survival. Her magic, no longer dormant, received a new surge, while his own lay crippled by remorse and doubt. _Can he do that to another being? To weed out memories, erase a part of their life, the part that had come to define them, even if that part had become dark and embittered, to stop the disease from spreading further? Moreso, without their consent?_

At a long last he finds Morgana on a riverbank, grim as a statue, words of magic forming on her lips. Her eyes glow gold and a teleportation spell starts gathering momentum, the dust and branches whirling around.

He launches forward - there is no time to think.

_Onslæp nu_, he whispers and watches Morgana go limp in his arms, for the second or third time already, or fourth... He's lost count by now. It's as if their shared Destiny has so strong of a will in itself that it keeps pushing him, wanting Morgana Pendragon dead, regardless of what Merlin might do or wish.

He won't bother to wipe tears from his face, she's not there to mock him for the display of emotion she so fondly calls weakness. He needs to talk to someone right now, to ask for advice, but he already knows what Kilgharrah would say. It's all up to him to make the right choice.

_That is easy, young warlock. You must kill her._

"I know," he whimpers through his tears. But he won't do it. For it's all that's left of his humanity and hers.

Morgana lies, slumbering, dark and deathly beautiful in his arms. Letting out another shaky breath, he forces himself to be calm. He can find another way.

_It would be better if the Witch never knew the true extent of her powers._

It can still be this way, and though he knows she resents the idea above all else, it will be done with the best of intentions. He could swipe her mind and she will begin anew - without those damned deaths weighing on her shoulder. Indeed, it's a courtesy he'd gladly extend to himself, if not for his responsibilities, his promise to Albion.

_And what about me, what about my Destiny?_ Morgana's voice chimes in his mind, so familiar, so easy to predict, a tune so much repeated it is foolish to expect it to change. And that's why he does it.

He does it because he _has_ _to_.

With a heavy heart, he carries her to the embankment. It's a clear lake with greenish blue waters from the springs, making it untouchable, so cold and beautiful. He wades in it til the waters are up to his waist. He releases his burden, and she's floating on the surface, like a leaf fallen from a tree. Waves wash her, untangle her hair, erase the darkness from her kohl-rimmed eyes. Merlin watches her, floating further, away, where the water is deeper and he can't follow.

In a safe distance, he begins the incantation, a curse to act as a blessing, to bestow an artifice peace for her soul. His heart aches as he erases her, even for this twisted version of her. The irony is, she won't even know.

"..._þin licsare_," he completes the spell, releasing her to the water. The waves crash around her, and something black is sinking.

* * *

With a loud gasp, Morgana awakens into life and to the water that starts filling her lungs. Her dress tangles around her feet into a net of lace and strings, and he realizes with a stab of shock she's too disoriented to swim. Afraid that she won't make it, he dismisses the plan to leave her to her own and plunges again into the waters, advancing fast with long strong-armed thrusts. Her voice is small, without a clue what is happening, and the waves smother any cries for help.

He reaches her, just barely, sinking to the depths. A spell cuts the ropes that inhibit her flight. She emerges anew, coughing and spluttering, on the surface.

With an arm around her they swim towards the shore, holding her carefully, for she's only part-dressed. Dripping wet from the lake, they touch the stony ground.

Morgana shivers and coughs, obviously experiencing a shock. He sits down inappropriately close to her, for she brings up her knees, covering herself in some attempt at modesty. Her shift clings to her body and he desperately tries not to look.

"Thank you, ..." she stops and waits, as though she should remember his name.

"Merlin," he says, careful not to face her. Not to betray his guilt or disturb the spell and accidentally remind her. He doubts she'd get over her anger if she did.

"Why - How did that happen?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

The silence that follows is almost predictable.

Her light green eyes fill with genuine worry, like returning to your home and finding no one there. Nothing. Not a thing to tell about herself. Merlin tries to comfort her, reaching for her shoulders. They are icy cold, like the lake itself. He takes her cloak from the ground and wraps it around her.

"It's alright now. See, I think we've found your clothes. There are often bandits in these woods, perhaps you tried hide from them."

It's a lousy lie, for he did not plan to offer any. Planned to watch from afar. With an apprehensive glance, she assesses her body. Her wrists and legs have marks on them. "I suppose it could be true."

_Why so guilty? Always so guilty..._

He coughs a little, blocking out her voice, before it betrays him. She can't even begin understand... He has to pretend not to know her.

"What's your name?"

"M- Morgana," she utters with some perceivable difficulty.

In her silky green underdress she looks like a water nymph, if it's true that they exist. Flushed and pure, in her ageless youth, she appears nothing short of a goddess, and, before he can handle it, his face forms into a slack-jawed look of awe.

"Why are you looking me like that?"

"I'm sorry, it's just you..." He swallows, looking away. "You remind me of someone."

"Who was she?" she asks, reading the pained lines on his face like one would with a book.

"Someone I once knew, I lost her in a lake."

Morgana falters, but her gaze is warm. So many hears have passed since he last saw that look.

"You saved my life now, doesn't that mean something?"

He smiles at her, but it only breaks him further. He wants to be far away, wants to hide - from her, from the world...to forget his shame.

"It does."

* * *

Morgana starts walking in the direction of... somewhere, in the footsteps of the man who had rescued her, her one and only clue. Who is she? Where did she come from? Where are they going to? And more importantly, why does this man - Merlin - seem so familiar. Closer even than simply a friend. But whenever she tries to remember a heavy headache explodes in her head.

So she settles to simply studying the young man, remembering the way he had dived into the waters and pulled her from that lake. Strong arms and a lanky body, and something about those deep blue eyes, wide and watery, so conviincingly demanding her trust.

Morgana shudders and coughs yet, tasting the bitter waters in her lungs. Her cloak is warm and lined with velvet, soft against her skin, her drying hair, and he caught him looking at her before she wrapped it on her shoulders, while now - fully clad - he mysteriously refuses to look at her.

"We must be here," Merlin prompts, ending the silence.

The cabin is small, something of a hut. Morgana can't remember much of before. Perhaps it's the shock of her almost drowning, but refusal and disappointment hangs in the air.

"Are you sure that this is were I live?" she asks, as they enter a hut too small to call her home.

Somehow, she'd expected to be someone of importance, perhaps of noble birth, guessed it by the way she carried herself, the way words formed on her lips. But the sight that opened was not one of homeliness, it belonged to more like someone in hiding. A witch perhaps.

Her eyes follow the chains, the dried plants hung the wall. _Witchbane, valerian, aconite, chamomile, poppies... _She looks at him sharply. Something forbidden hangs on her tongue.

"Who would gather herbs like this?"

He does not look scared nor concerned by the implication.

"A healer woman."

"Is that truly what you think I am?"

He straightens then, righteousness lighting his eyes.

"Yes and a good one. Someone with the power to help others. Magic is a gift, not a curse. But you must remain careful and... stay away from Camelot."

"Is that where you come from?" She smiles, sadly. He does as well, even more enigmatically.

"King Arthur Pendragon is not like his father, but magic is still banned in his land. Trust me, I won't tell a soul, but you can't risk to go there... not until things have changed. Don't be disappointed. Time will come when you can join me and others to use your gifts for the common good."

Morgana looks up at him with admiration and awe. _Such strange day, such fortunate meetings._ Merlin is unable to hold her gaze.

"I have to go home..." He stammers a bit. "My friends must all be worried by now."

"Will you promise to visit me?"

He shrugs, grappling for words. How sharp and determined, yet so gentle and shy he is. In one quick swoop, she leans in, pressing her lips to his flat cheek, slightly rough from small stubble. A kiss of gratitude, for she'd settle on no less.

Blushing furiously, he looks so lost and so regretful that it breaks her heart a little. "I will, Morgana. Know there's goodness in your heart, don't ever let it change."

He starts for the door, so happy he almost forgets. "And, always wear this bracelet. It protects you from... bad things."

She looks at the magical gift in her hands. It's intricate and beautiful, carvings in silver.

"Thank you."

He's retreating fast, so she calls out, "Merlin." He stops with a smile, not quite reaching his eyes. "You're a good friend."

A myriad of emotions flickers over his face.

With one more look back, and a nod, Merlin disappears through the door.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter grew massive in my hands, so I spilt it into two for the sake of the editing and to keep the format. The rest**** will be posted soon, again from Morgana's perspective. ****Also, cookies for a little paraphrase of Gaugin, if you noticed.**

Comment, if you can, before the next chapter comes in, it means a lot to me!


	5. In the Dark

A/N: As some of you guessed, things don't always go as planned.

* * *

.

**In the Dark**

. . .

Why did he look so upset? And why did she feel like it meant something else? - _B__e_cause she had said it before.

In one single gut-blowing onslaught of memories, Morgana the healer is blown into oblivion. After the initial disorientation of such sudden transformation, Morgana Pendragon is overcome by rage even her world-worn mind can't contain. Shudders, hot and cold, rake through her body, confusing her, blinding her from inside out.

_He fooled me. Tried to _kill_ me again, nearly let me _drown_! Made it look like he_ saved _me. Made me _thank_ him._

Forget her destiny and doom - he's the one true thorn in her side. Without bothering to wait or calculate her next move, she storms through the door to find Merlin outside her cabin, slowly walking away on the dimming forest path - not gone, not yet.

"Merlin..." she shouts out and runs towards him.

Turning around in the dark, he cannot make out her expression for the smile that greets her is bright and expectant... It changes the moment she tackles him like a harpy, teeth and nails exposed in a vicious attack. He has no chance to pull a force field or even a stunning spell, for she's already clawing at his shirt - still damp from the lake, knocking him over, then pins him to the ground by straddling him through her tattered rags.

_He ruined her dress. Her one reliable outfit._

Fuelled with newborn anger, Morgana takes it all out on him, aiming sharp, well-delivered punches that could put most of Arthur's knights to shame. Using magic would make it a short fight, and she knows that he won't dare touch her like this, not if he wants to cling on to the code of honour he pretends uphold.

"Hypocrite. Liar!"

As expected, Merlin won't bother to defend himself, just closes his eyes and takes it all. Like it's a bad dream and will soon be over. She will run out of names to call his betrayal, no words to express the wickedness of his deeds. But she will keep shaking him, futile as it is, until she remembers his old wound, and presses her fingers in it.

With a shout of pain, the warlock springs into action, very tense and a little wild.

In the fading light his eyes are mostly dark, and so are hers. Twisted mirrors of each other, they burn bubbling hot with betrayal and rage and... and... _no, not that. Goodness, not that. _

It's not _that_ at all.

Morgana shoots up to gain some distance, but Merlin grabs her arms in a vice-like grip - surprisingly strong, like he's made of steel wire. Hard from labour, servant's hands. She pounces back at him, but he won't let go. Just scowls at her, like she's the child in a temper tantrum. _How dare he?_

"You nearly let me drown, then left me in that shack to fend for myself with no wits in my head. Waiting for some robbers to find me, perhaps Arthur's men, too coward to finish the job you started. Did you really you'd get away with that after everything you've done?"

"Morgana, stop - I - " the warlock is trying to talk.

She looks at his pouty bleeding bottom lip, and an irrational, absurd desire to bite it wrecks her mind, makes her lean in. At the last moment, she diverts her teeth into one more appropriate target: one of his earlobes, sticking out to the point of distraction. The one details that she remembers the most about him, when he'd first arrived in Camelot. Young, fresh-faced. The both of them. How she'd thought him _adorable,_ she can barely imagine now. _And_ _Gwen had laughed so shyly..._

With a loud yelp of pain, and lets go of her as if she's a ball of fire in his lap.

_She had bit him. _Merlin is getting angry too, after the shock and disbelief. _Good_. Means they're finally on the same page.

"Water was a necessary part of the spell. I came back the moment I heard you. I stayed with you, made sure you were well." His eyes shoot daggers, landing harsh on her. "I gave you a chance to start over. To have a life practicing magic without the hatred or memory of the horrible things you've done," he finishes, still clutching his ear. She wants to see if its bleeding, though she did not taste blood. It's soft smooth feel sticks to her lips and she wants it gone.

"I _knew_ something wasn't right, I felt it in my bones. I could not live like that. Not a day. Do you have any idea, Merlin, what it means to be thrown back into unknowingness. To go insane from what you know? To have dreams of Destiny and mistake it for Death?"

The fire in Merlin's eyes quells. She has said too much. It's become too personal. She blames the bond she had briefly formed with this man, her as the healer woman. Maybe she's not fully back yet.

"That wasn't so. Remember... Isn't _fear_ what is surrounding you _now_ - only _after _you remembered who you were?" He sighs, sitting down again. The night stretches around them like a cloak. "I offered you a life without the fear of death. One where you could choose for yourself. Wasn't freedom what you dreamed of, once? Not revenge."

Morgana is silent. Memories of her new beginning are still too fresh, still present. And despite being alone and confused, she'd felt light, and relieved... Almost happy with the lies he'd fed her. Almost. For oblivion is not the true happiness, only a mask.

Merlin continues.

"Regardless of what you have done or what you may think of me, I would have kept my promise and offered you a way back - a life with those you once cared about."

"That wouldn't have worked." She slumps down because she's exhausted. Not sad.

"Maybe," Merlin admits. "But I had to try."

* * *

Back in her hut, the two are once again poised on the opposite sides of the room. The hearth flickers a golden glow, the flames leap high as the magic that birthed it was worn and irregular. It's safe to say their confrontation has reached a complete standstill. They've tried it all and ended up in the beginning. Both of them are wounded. Both of them are exhausted. Unwilling to give up.

_What a riddle. An impossible kind._

If neither of them gets some sleep soon, they'll both start hallucinating. Nothing remains to be told. There aren't even any arguments left. Morgana huffs and looks around in her hut. She wonders absently if Agravaine noticed her disappearance, if he is looking for her, with no idea of what happened. She smiles to herself at the image of his confusion. He's quite the fool, but then again - sworn to her service. And she needs allies, however annoying a shape they took. That was all she had against her adversaries, proving more than worthy.

_How come Arthur got so lucky to have taken Merlin on? A wise decision, from such royal prat_. _Or was it the servant's plan all along?_

Merlin looks up, noticing her observing him closely. His eyes are hollow, his jaw sharp, drooping low, slumping, with his unbroken stubborn backbone. Morgana can't help but wonder... Such strange creature. The idea that he'd let her live, despite the harm she's done, over and over, becomes even more astounding.

It's the closest thing she's felt to acceptance. Except, she suspects it being directed to what she was, not what she wills herself to be. Morgause had loved her, but even she had scolded her sometimes, cast those doubting, half-awed, half-alarmed looks whenever Morgana did something unexpected, something even she thought beyond herself. Like executing those townsfolk.

She wonders if she was doing that to impress. Prove herself beyond all doubt._ To whom exactly_?

Morgana frowns, not bothering to hide her conflicts. It's useless to try and act anymore. None of it would have any effect on them now, he's seen her face and she has his. Such kind of honesty is highly unusual. Suffocating. Even intimate.

"We've reached a stalemate, Emrys," Morgana ends the moment. "You won't kill me and won't let me kill you... Yet one of us has to die."

"Has to? Says who?" Merlin smiles, sardonic. She wonders where that came from. Or was it always there, these darker corners of him.

"Well, you can just leave and let me carry on with my business," she shoots him a challenging look.

It's about to take, Merlin is about to say something, but something happens. An unexpected disturbance. Footsteps, outside.

The door opens and without invitation, Agravaine's bulky form stumbles into the chamber. In his relieved surprise he misses the third person, seated snugly by the hearth.

"Morgana, thank goodness, I was worried si-" he stops as he sees they have company.

The two men stare at each other. Morgana rolls her eyes. _That blundering moron._

* * *

**A/N: I initially considered keeping Morgana under amnesia a while longer, but using it to fix their problem would be a '_deus ex machina'_ and Merlin lying and abusing his power further will not help things anyhow. Thus, the honest struggle will continue.** **And, dear shippers, you'll see the tension "addressed" more directly in the following chapters...**

So, how did you like it - their second confrontation? Is it believable? Drop me a word and I'll try to post very soon : )


	6. In the Ground

A/N: I decided to borrow some canon, once more. Merlin strikes again.

* * *

.

**In the Ground**

. . .

"What is _he_ doing here?" Agravaine enquires, unable to put the faces and expressions together into a reasonable explanation. There are no chains, no shackles and Merlin is seated comfortably by the fire, as if he's just dropped by for a visit. Neither of them looks particularly happy to see him. In this silence, an unvoiced fear of betrayal creeps in and Agravaine's bafflement breaks into a million shards, each of different colour.

"We've found Emrys," Morgana explains, trying to sound unperturbed, not like a captive. It comes off a little too well.

The dark uncle laughs, pointing at Merlin. "So it's you. Y_ou're_ Emrys?"

"That's what the druids call me."

"And you've been in court, all this time. At Arthur's side?" He chuckles. "How you've managed to deceive him. I am impressed, Merlin... Perhaps we're more alike than you think."

Morgana scoffs at him. These two could not be more different. _No wonder Arthur was on the throne and she in her hovel._

"He's not on our side," she remarks drily to keep the man silent. She really should choose her allies more carefully. _Another Pendragon trait, perhaps._

Agravaine's face contorts into another grimace. His sword hand reaches for the hilt, ready to draw. "Be careful," Morgana warns, quietly.

"Why, are you protecting him?" The man's face twists not just betrayal, but even more - in jealousy. "Have you chosen him now? After all I have done?"

"You've done nothing that matters," Morgana quips, angry at this accusation, stands and moves away, turning her back on the scene behind her. Underneath her calm demeanor her mind is racing. She needs a plan and fast. She might yet escape if only Agravaine managed to drive Merlin to distraction.

"Then it's time I did."

As if to prove it, Agravaine unsheathes his sword. The ring of metal chimes loud, cutting through the air and the pretense peace. In one sharp shove the blade drops.

Mildly horrified, Morgana watches the lifeless body of her accomplice sag down the wall and onto the dusty flagstones. There's nothing to be done. Merlin is way too powerful and too much on the edge to deal out warning blows. Even a little is a little too much.

A pair of blue eyes lock in hers, waiting for her reaction. For fear, anger, contempt perhaps. She has none.

Without realizing she is shaking, Morgana moves over to look at the body. Lifeless eyes, open-mouthed, still warm. She won't bother to check the pulse. It is Merlin that she finds more interesting. How can he contain such unstoppable force?

His eyes tremble, blinking. This moment is unreserved, not meant for anyone's eyes. It's genuine. It's guilt.

"You're not so adverse to killing after all..." Morgana jabs at him with newfound amazement.

"Dont," Merlin growls, and the sound is broken. She stares at the unseeing eyes a while longer, before turning to the alive ones, equally glazed, just as distant. Morgana knows it all too well. The strange emptiness that settles in after a kill.

Heedless of her inspection, Merlin won't say a thing. Just stares, motionless, at the man on the floor. Morgana takes over. A hand on his wrist, she wakes the warlock from his stupor.

"Come, we need to bury him."

* * *

Earth scatters around the traitor's body. Dressed in black. How fitting. Stretched out in the ground Agravaine looks taller, his face frozen in eternal surprise. Or is he smirking at them? Morgana can no longer tell. She tilts her head in curiousily, gazing at the expression of death, wondering absently if hers would look the same. If Merlin would lift his hands the same way, would the ground spill over her, too?

"You're not sad." It's a statement, not a question.

She won't bother to deny it. _Merlin knows her too well for this. _She won't need to pretend anymore. That part of her life is over.

If she were to will herself to feel something, it would be like shouting in an empty hall. A mere echo of the true emotions, silenced when she took a that sip of poison, then cut out as she pressed that knife in the soft belly of her one and only sister. _Morgause had called it an act of mercy._ The deed was all but merciful, maiming two with one blow.

And though it's not sadness she feels, there is a certain kind of pity. Despite everything, the man had been loyal to her. And now there was none left. No one to dig a grave for her. Agravaine was a fool, but he was there. Now she's alone.

"I don't know what to feel. His eye would linger on me too many a time, but he would never lay a hand on me." She finishes her speech with a bitter smile, "I think, he was the last one to care if I lived or died."

Morgana stares ahead, into the darkening woods. The mist blankets the floor like a shroud, a promise of dawn, which they will witness. - What a prerogative.

"That's not true, you know."

Her eyes dart up - the situation is too grim for jokes. Merlin rubs his hands against his sides, like they're dirty, though they never touched a thing. He continues,

"There are still people who care. Even after everything, Arthur would never want to see you dead. Deep down he still hopes, wants you back. And so does Gwen." He pauses for emphasis. "And me."

It's an open admission, and she does not know how to handle it. The rage is all gone now, has abandoned her, too. She's not ready to become hope's fool, though.

"Even after I took Camelot? After I tore the veil and released the Dorocha and all the doom that followed? The chain of events that took Lancelot's life, even as I wish it was yours?"

The truth weighs heavy between them. Merlin swallows, and looks at the ground. Ever repentant. Always ready to try again.

"We've both done terrible things."

Morgana wonders how he can be so hopeful. Such unfortunate quality for a man destinded to such bloodshed. He will keep feeling responsible for every single life, remorse for each death. And yet, carry on.

_Perhaps there's no shame in being slain by an opponent like him?_

"It's getting late," Morgana mutters, after finishing the burial rite. Merlin looks up again, then nods, once.

She turns without glancing back, knowing he will follow.

* * *

The hovel has darkened, the fire burnt out, when they come back. The air feels haunted, the recent events too fresh. Morgana glances around with unease, as if expecting the dead man make an appearance, ghost her steps like he did when he was alive. Another presence to invade her dreams. She clutches her healing bracelet, praying for it to save her. Merlin notices, comments on it.

"This place just got eerier tonight."

"There is nowhere else. Or are you simply implying you'll be leaving me at last?" It's a demand, an enquiry, and a threat all in one. Apprehension and hope in equal measure. Too much for her to disentangle. And so she won't bother.

Neither does he, and will not answer, just slumps on her cot for the lack of nearby chairs. She never intended to have visitors. Never expected to stay here for long. She was about to be queen again, have her loyal foot soldiers do her bidding.

_Now that her last subject has fallen, can she still call herself Queen?_

She goes to sit beside him. Merlin won't look at her, keeping his stare blank, his emotions to himself. _Is this what he always does? Every time he has taken a life? Was he like that after he thought he'd taken hers? _

Almost morbid fascination has taken over her, and Morgana can't pull back, can't stop studying that angular face, so full of emotions he can't keep in check. She leans in, mesmerised.

"Don't," he says, but she's yet to make a move, yet to touch him. Hasn't even thought of it yet. But she does, now.

They're not in a sickbay, and she's not here to treat him, but the look he wears is of one returned from the battle. Almost instinctively, she reaches over to him, places her hand on that slumped back, adding more pressure as she moves to his shoulder. So broad, so angular compared to her own.

Her lips find his mouth, parting it a little. It's a small gesture, but it breaks all rules. Even her own.

"Morgana..."

Her name sounds like a dying groan, or so she imagines.

She needs to feel it again, to taste it on his lips. This time, there will be no resistance.

* * *

**A/N: I admit I never warmed up to Agravaine's character, perhaps because he was so underdeveloped, without any conflicting traits or dilemmas, other than his secret lust for Morgana - made clear in the deleted scenes. But still I prefer not to use character death unless it's necessary. And it wa****s. No amount of conversation could have such an effect Morgana as witnessing Merlin in this state. A bit ironic... after all that talk.**

So, are you excited about the next chapter? Not much talking going on there...


	7. In the Night

A/N: The seduction. It's all one long scene, descriptive, but not too graphic. I'm mainly concerned about their inner struggles more than any physical aspects of the act itself. Hope it won't disappoint.

* * *

.

**In the Night**

. . .

_She is kissing Merlin_. A rather belated, redundant thought. The sensation is paramount.

His face is close, their warm breaths mingling in experimental brushes of mouths. A hand on his chest, Morgana trails the network of muscles pulsing underneath, his searing heat against the cold of her palms. The fabric of his shirt is rough and inexpensive. Never one to be interested in apparel, Merlin is wearing the same as always - same kinds of shirts, same old neckerchiefs, lost during his capture. Only colours varied from time to time, but she can't even tell it in the dark.

While that is all too familiar, these smells and tastes are new. Expanding her hold on him, Morgana opens her mouth, wanting to explore deeper. Merlin sighs into her mouth, lets his hands contour her frame, sliding down her sides, settling finally on her hips. Her palm flat on his chest, she leans on it.

In the end, it takes but a slight push, after such long persuasion, to tip him over.

He falls like a tree: tall, majestic, and doomed. It's a new field they're playing at, with a new set of rules. Her hands take further possession of him, roaming up and down his body, her moves too frantic to be deliberate. Merlin's own are yet more focused, studying, observing, before he finally gives up as well. Kisses her back with a force that robs the air from her lungs._  
_

A soft moan escapes her mouth, when he finally releases it, his lips trailing lower to an unknown territory. Her back arches as she winces and shudders. His mouth moves, wet and sloppy, circling her collarbone, and she realises with a start that they're both without a plan, set loose in open waters, and neither seems to be backing out.

Her old self, the _Queen Morgana_, would have been shamed to be caught so out of control, her pride would be damaged. But now, at this moment, she can't bring herself to care. There's no more allies to impress. No Morgause to embarrass. Another deep dive, and the wave of emotion rips through her, released from the harnesses she had created to protect her.

When she'd plotted his downfall, she didn't imagine it affecting her. Not like this. Not like anything before.

It's not unpleasant. Far from it. After a period of stillness, she's filled with an sensations again: tingling, yearning, burning under her skin. Evoked by the one that fed her hatred for so long. She'd imagined it more forceful, never so tentative. More in control. She'd expected to break him, send him to his knees, yet there she is, with him crawling under her skin, every bit as powerful, not losing anything. Only gaining.

She feels magnificent, wanted, powerful.

Her sister was right. And not right at all. This sudden sway she had over him, the most powerful warlock, if only she could learn to swim in this current. Suddenly, she understands why Cenred needed to be killed. Why she should want Merlin killed. _But does she?_

In all fairness, there were no declarations, no promises, nothing to bind her to this deed. If she wanted to, she could bring this all to an abrupt end. For a moment, she wonders why she does not. What's her gain in this particular game? Just to please the surge of desire, the tension, the emotion that is craving for a release.

_Emotion? __Does she feel emotion for Emrys? _The prophecy only mentioned destiny and doom. But this is just Merlin. Or is this Emrys acting so bold?

His body encases her. It's a conflicting feeling, to be held so close, barely enough to breathe, shielded by another. For a paradoxical reason it makes her feel safe. _Merlin... makes her feel alive_. He is speaking, of things, nice things, horrible things, but his lips are not moving at all. It's as if she's in his head like he was in hers.

She reaches downward, where he presses against her, fingers skimming against his member through the thick fabric. He huffs and dips in, encouraged by her touch. Rolling over, it is suddenly him who's running ahead, exposing more skin as he works down her body from that silk shift he exposed her to. Suddenly, she does not care about her ruined clothes. It may have something to do with his hands on the sides, on her waist, running up and down, and up, grabbing the thin fabric in his calloused hands.

Something is cracking, somewhere deep, and she pulls in, bringing him to her face to find out what it is. Breathing against her mouth, he kisses her again. In a toothy, almost feral way. Then gentle, caressing again. For a second she thinks he's lost his mind. _She wouldn't mind_. If anything, it would give her some advantage, return some of that lost control.

She even does for a moment, and in the small gap she's created, Morgana removes his shirt and her shift follows, finds him staring at her wide-eyed, hands stilled on the small of her back, in the dim light of dawn, not quite there, the blue of his eyes darkened... filled with wonderment.

For no reason at all, Morgana suddenly grows very nervous. She'd only pretended to seduce men before, nothing more than a brief flirt in the court. Later, it became more practiced, more menacing weapon, but she'd never put her heart in it. Not until now. All she could hope was that he was just as unaware.

_Didn't he mention a woman earlier, another lady in a lake?_ Or was it just a reference to her past self, drowned, sacrificed to her new life. Morgana shivers, thinking of those cold waters she woke up to. Just another nightmare in a long list. This will not be one.

There would be no pain, Morgause had ensured that. _Better have it on your terms than spoils for men to loot._ Losing her maidenhood had been part of her initiation ritual - something all high priestesses would keep and donate to their office, once they said the vows. Her chastity was broken by spell - an ancient, sacred magic - ensuring that she'd never need to marry. It had hurt but a little, but it bled, _and bled and bled_...

At the image of the memory, Morgana gasps and tenses but a little, a sudden reminder of her many wounds. It won't go unnoticed.

"I don't - I think we - " Merlin mutters, but his body won't follow this line of thought, his hands trailing down her neck, rounding her bosom. He tries to speak again, but this time, she's not listening. The fire in her chest has moved lower, to her centre, and she wonders vaguely, where all this heat stems from. Is it magic or pure carnal lust? _Or perhaps both_?

Merlin's wide eyes have lit with an expression so conflicted it's beginning to affect her. She closes hers not to let it. Her conviction will suffer no arguments. She is a creature of magic. A witch. An outlaw. The high priestess and the last of her kind. Nothing in the this world nor the other one should be able to scare her.

She _wants_ this, and so she goes wherever it takes her.

A flash of her magic removes the remainder of his clothes. He looks up at her, as she rolls him over. Both entirely bare, completely unarmed. Unashamed. He won't try to argue, won't say anything, as she carefully... slowly... sinks down on him.

They sway their hips together, first slow and tentative, before Morgana turns to run amok on him, rushing their joined bodies towards the relief. Merlin bites back the sounds from his chest, tries to steady her, but it's too late for he's struck by the same spell.

When the pleasure hits them, it's mind-consuming. As if blinded by some inner light, Morgana experiences a sight so vivid, thinks it's Avalon she sees, so strange and beautiful and much too far. Too short to remember, for it's already over.

Just as the relief, the exhaustion of the day returns like a tidal wave. Thick, full gasps of air, then silence.

All is settled. They're back in the reality. Washed ashore.

Both lay still till the sleep claims them, not bothering to untangle.

* * *

**A/N: I hope it's not a stretch to think it would be the first time for the both of them. Regardless of what changes Morgana went through with Morgause, I doubt she'd have trusted any man enough to be intimate with her. And Merlin... I'm simply assuming that Freya was his last attempt at romance and we all know how that ended. So. I hope it all makes sense, and we can proceed to**** the morning after...**

Thank you for the reviews so far! Feedback is always very much appreciated : )


	8. In the Light

A/N: The aftermath, or if you prefer - the morning banter.

* * *

.

**In the Light**

. . .

At the break of the new day, the world has changed again, with two sleeping bodies where there's meant to be one. It's uncertain who opened their eyes first, but both of them awaken to a late noon, with sides pressed together on a crooked cot, sunrays filtering through the surrounding roof and walls. Their lives have fallen somewhat off course, taken another turn. To where exactly, is hard to tell, with the old paths eroded and new ones yet to be trodden.

For now, at least, neither is going anywhere.

Neither is willing to make the first move and Merlin is unusually quiet under the sheets, not trying to talk, nor point out how wrong her ways are, how he chose the higher path. No, none of that. The silence hangs like peace between them. _A cease fire, _Morgana thinks.

Her glance wanders to her left, over his chest. It's paler than his face, dusted with dark hairs. A curious small detail she did not know. In truth, she's never had a man in her reach before, so near and unresisting. As if to test these new boundaries, she traces a finger along the lines of his ribcage, venturing lower, till the sheets catch under her nails as she reaches the hipbone. Such flat unfamiliar corner. She lingers there, circling, til something twitches. Merlin's eyes dart up in alarm. Morgana smirks.

In one swift turn, he throws them around, pins her wrists to the mattress. A wrong move on his part, for he's suddenly aware exactly _how_ close their bodies are, pressed together, fully naked save two layers of sheets inbetween. In the daylight, his eyes are again their usual colour, very clear and deep, and studying her... She knows what he is thinking. Just one dip and he'd meet her breath in his. One dip and he'd drown.

At that thought, he pulls away sharply. He won't even glimpse at her, as if faced by something terrible. Fear of rejection is a fair guess.

She observes him for a while longer, then props herself on an elbow with a clever little smile. "Who knew you had such weakness for me? All this time..."

"Let's not go there," he growls not to sound like a mouse in a trap. Morgana smiles knowingly.

"I think we already did," she comments, sitting up to see him better. The sheets slide lower down her back. The hovel was always such a damp and cold place, especially in the mornings, and now the first shiver travels down her spine.

He watches her, and won't say a thing. Unchallenging. It annoys her more than any of their banters, this turning of his back on her, his wordless arguments. Old wounds begin to ache anew. If that was true, if he had any feelings for her, how could he have done such a horrible thing, poison her like that in cold blood? - An answer for that echoes in herself.

_To love _is_ to hurt_, Morgause had explained, when Morgana had been too adamant not to let her go. She talked about acceptance too, faults and imperfections_. _Morgana was not listening much - she found nothing in Morgause that needed improving. Everything she did and was seemed beyond reprise, or so she thought. A part of her fears she'll never reach Morgause's level of grace, her serenity, her calm conviction and the clear reason of her mind.

Morgana is not like that. She's all too flawed, her plans deeply rooted in passions, making her even more eager, more reckless in her pursuits. And all because of this, these ties to her past. The emotions she hides that he knows how to press on.

"It wasn't just me," Merlin points out, after some consideration. "I'm not the one who's conflicted here."

"Oh, _please_..."

"Then why did you go through with this?" Merlin demands. It's a good question.

And it's a good time as any.

"To prove a point," Morgana replies, decisive. Merlin casts her a dubious glance, but his desire to know takes over.

"And what point might that be?"

"We're more alike than you'd like to admit."

Merlin shakes his head a little too vehemently. She's slightly annoyed.

"I'll never be like you."

She lets out a laugh.

"True - you've lied so much there's no honest bone left in your body. In fact, you even lie to yourself."

"I only want to the world to be better than it is."

"As do I. Except I'm not afraid to change it."

"Well, you have, but only for the worse," he comments and she has prepared a retort, when he adds, quietly, "Tell me, did it make you happy that Uther died?"

Morgana tenses visibly. He has hit a nerve.

"The kingdom is better off without him. Even _you_ can see it. He did not deserve to be saved by magic."

"You know, that doesn't answer my question..."

Morgana shuts her mouth in defiance.

Seeing no end to their futile discussions, Merlin sits up, planting his feet on the floor, and begins looking for his clothes.

She watches his pale back, twitching as he moves, the fine muscles at work. Faint bruises and old scars mark his skin, reminders of the many times he put his life in danger. _And for whose end? - Arthur's._

Merlin's cold shoulder bothers her, more than she will admit. "Is that the way you treat a woman?" she means to mock, but it comes out hurting.

Her voice rings behind him, and he stops fixing his breeches. The look he comes up with is... guilty.

"I'm sorry, Morgana. I shouldn't have done this. I should have - "

"Should have what?"

"It was a mistake. And it won't happen again."

"Why?" she tempts, still.

"Because," he explains staring hopelessly at the opposite wall, not her suggestive grin. "You are a sworn enemy of Camelot, and I am loyal to Arthur. I will _never_ betray him."

Such honest confession. Said with so much conviction. But times change. They always do.

"So certain of your allegiance, dear _warlock?_"

Merlin's face grows stony at the suggestion. He swallows.

"I am."

Morgana smiles wistfully.

"So was I."

With a look of sadness, Merlin takes his tattered shirt, starts pulling on his boots. He doesn't see her expression, but he hears her as she speaks.

"Quite a boring end to our duel, or is it your way of avoiding defeat?"

Merlin grits his teeth, but won't cave in. Keeps his focus on fixing the straps.

"I wasn't lying about needing to return to Camelot. Thanks to your earlier ambush, Arthur must be convinced I'm dead by now."

"What of Agravaine?" Morgana asks, suddenly curious. "They'll be looking for him, too."

"Arthur suspected him before. We all did." Merlin looks at her, then away again. "It won't be difficult to confirm his treason now..."

Morgana smiles. She knows his tricks. Well, some of them at least. Merlin's cunning is quite a sight to behold, quite dangerous as well, as she had repeatedly learned. What an ally he would have made. _Could, still.._.

Merlin still looking at her, yet through her somehow. When he stands up, something inside her stirs. It's a strange feeling, she realizes - a pang of disappointment. She forces it down, and quirks an eyebrow instead.

"So this is it, no more threats, no oaths of vindication?"

When he stalks away, his gait is wobbly. Her hungry eyes burn into his back, her grin devilish. Merlin halts, leans his head against the door. "I need time. To fix things."

"And why should I - "

"One week, Morgana..." His demand turns to a plea. With that deep, earnest tone of his. The one that made her trust him that much, before he betrayed her. She knows better this time.

Never the one to be left behind, Morgana stands up with no garments nor sheets around her, and goes to meet him: naked, haughty and confident, daring him to face her.

She wears her body as a suit of armor - strong, impenetrable. Merlin wavers a few times, before focusing on her unflinching gaze.

"Until then, Nemesis." Her words spell doom as they always do, yet now it sounds like a caress. The only one he'll get.

There's some anticipation hanging in the air between them. She does not know why or what it is, or how to call it.

_It's a sendoff, nothing more._

"Soon," he makes a promise.

And so, stealing a quick kiss against her pale cheek, he turns to go. Morgana watches him, stunned.

"One for the road," he explains, all innocent. His grin is anything but.

* * *

**A/N: It will take more than just one night to fix their animosity. But hey, things are moving again. At least a few more chapters, to go. Next, back in Camelot.**

So, do you wish redemption for Morgana, or her to remain badass? Or perhaps both, with a little twist? Let me know what you think : )


	9. Out of Sight

A/N: Thank you for the abundant feedback, it's all been noted ; ) I'm pleased to see a general consensus regarding Morgana's potential as a great character - not just a black and white villain - and I assure you, dear readers, I would not settle on anything less.

The last two chapters were important, but also slower in a way. So, to pick up the pace - a long eventful chapter again. From Merlin's point of view. It's nice to finally include other characters as well.

* * *

.

**Out of Sight**

. . .

Merlin dismounts his steed in the Darkling Woods, sends the horse galloping away to avoid suspicion, given that Agravaine was the one to have borrowed it. It will find its way back to Morgana - or Camelot, whichever it chooses. _Strange how everything came to such a choice. Good or evil. Either or. Never both._

Walking on the familiar forest path - the same one he's trodden countless times before - takes twice the effort. It's as if his feet are out of sync, betting against each other, wanting to go elsewhere, off the trail and away again. Merlin wills his thoughts on back home.

_Has Arthur recovered from the attack, has he tried to find him? What about Gaius? And Gwen, his friend, dear Gwen must be worried..._That's all a lie though, a lousy one at that, for all he can think about is last night. In the hovel. With Morgana.

With his enemy, he reminds himself. _A soft mouth, demanding kisses, agile hands, her hips rolling into his when... _Merlin stops on his tracks. He will _not_ think about Morgana's perfect skin and ebony hair this close to Camelot. It's bordering treason. And no one, _not a soul _can ever know what happened in there. Not even Gaius.

He can, however, think about everything that came before that. Their battles of wit and magic, some of which he had won, the aftermath of his failed attempt to purge her mind, Agravaine's unfortunate demise. It still feels terrible, made even worse by having a witness. Solidified. Yet it was that horrible act that made her change her mind, push her towards him. _Kind looks for kind_. Or was it merely Morgana's way of gaining power over him? Well... Had she?_  
_

No. Her kisses were overwhelming, seductive, that much is true, yet not enough to gain control over him. She'd even lost it over herself. Which meant that he was as much to blame as her, perhaps even more so. It was that moment of weakness, his chance to prove himself. And he didn't, instead they - ...

"Merlin!?" Gwaine's armoured shape materialised in front of him, something he would have noticed, had his mind been otherwise occupied... "Elyan, over here! Gods must be fooling my eyes, Merlin - it _is_ you. We must inform Arthur."

"I'll go find him. Nice to have you back, Merlin." The other knight disppears galloping into the woods. Gwaine keeps grasping at him, as if to convince himself Merlin is no scepter sent to haunt him, but a living, breathing man.

"We've spent three days looking for you, thought you were wounded or worse. Arthur had the entire area searched - the woods, the damned valley and all. Some of us are still out there."

Merlin smiles, blushes, his heart aching at this warm welcome. After the tension of the last few days, it's almost too much. "I don't know what to say."

"Never mind that," the knight throws an arm over his aching shoulder, guides him to his steed. "Let's get you some food and ale. You must be starving and dead tired, after... where the hell have you been, anyway?"

"It's... a long story." Merlin groans, hoping it will spare him from any further explanation. At least until he comes up with one.

* * *

He finds Gaius in the physician's quarters - or rather, his mentor finds him, standing on the doorway, thankful to be back in these familiar friendly surroundings. How wonderfully different, how safe it feels here. No daggers, no secret traps, no poisonous words, no dark temptation. This warm greeting alone should erase the memory completely.

"Don't do that again, Merlin. My old heart cannot take the strain."

Merlin hugs the old man in return, feeling more guilty by the minute. Like he had taken a vacation at everyone's expense, even if that was not the case. He had been dealing with the biggest threat to the kingdom yet - Morgana. And whatever came after... it was just... _Well, whatever it was, it was done._

"Three days, Merlin. You were gone for three days."

"Two nights," he clarifies redundantly. The time is hardly the point.

"What took you so long," Gaius goes on, "and how did you manage to escape? Arthur said you were so badly wounded he had to carry you."

"Well, you know, I have magic..." Merlin smiles, coyly. "And... I -"

"You weren't held captive, were you?" His mentor is smarter than he would ever reveal. Living so many years under a suspicious king can do that to you. Merlin wonders if he'd share his fate. No. That won't happen. For Arthur is different.

"Only for a while. Then I escaped. And I had to take care of another matter on the way. I'm sorry I caused so much trouble. I never meant to..."

Gaius waves at him, dismissively. "Aah, don't worry about it. What matters is you're back home. Safe and sound."

Merlin nods.

* * *

This week is going count as the strangest one in his life. As he'd already suspected, almost everyone in the castle believed him to be dead by now, making him the receiving end of more hugs and friendly pats than when he ever did for something far worthier. _The upsides of being a villain_, he jokes grimly, but cannot bring himself to laugh. He has to act normal, whatever turmoils he feels inside. Bubbly, beaten, delighted, downcast, optimistic, out of his mind. This confusion just can't go on.

For the lack of anything to do, and to avoid staring into an empty space, head loaded with thoughts, Merlin begins cleaning Arthur's room, which is not nearly as messy as he'd imagined, perhaps because he wasn't there much, but away, looking for him. Perhaps he hasn't even noticed Agravaine missing.

"Merlin!" Arthur's eyes bulge as he barges in, his surprise melting into a brilliant smile.

When the King is done hugging his manservant, his initial glee turns to a suspicious, almost accusing pout.

"Honestly, Merlin, for a man left behind you do not look half bad."

"Must be the fresh air," he tries to joke. It's a mistake.

"Merlin..." the King warns. Without further explanation, he pulls at the collar of Merlin's tunic. The blue one he had just changed into. "What happened to your wound? I swear I saw a nasty gash right there. You were practically half-dead when I left you..."

"Listen, I, I was - uhm - " Merlin gropes for words. Morgana was right - he does lie too much, too often, too easily to his King. It might become his biggest obstacle yet, if he ever were to know. So, he tries a half-truth this time. "I was with a healer woman. She found me and... I..."

"Did she use magic on you?"

"..."

"It's okay, Merlin, you don't have to answer that. You know, as the ruler, I cannot approve of her... practices. But she did save your life. And for what it's worth, I am thankful." Arthur pats his shoulder, the healthy one, before quirking his eyebrow. "As long as that's all she did to you."

Before he even knows it, Merlin's face burns deep crimson. The King laughs.

* * *

Despite the initial embarrassment, Merlin is happy that Arthur believed his account of meeting a healer woman, that she took him in and cared for him till he was ready to go. Moreover, he agreed to keep it secret, or else he'd be forced to persecute her or challenge the law. Hopefully, it wil also keep him from bringing it up again. Even just to tease him about what he assumed was nothing more than a few looks or kisses. _If only_.

Yet again, Merlin's boyish innocence had worked in his favour - perhaps it would work a while longer?

Thinking ahead, he had made up one more story, a short account of seeing Agravaine converse with the mercenaries, a small band camped not far from the Valley of the Fallen Kings. That Merlin had taken a longer route home just to avoid them. He knows it's too early for Arthur to believe it, but the seeds of doubt would grow with each day the man is not back. Eventually, they will need to search his chambers, for a sign of betrayal or kidnap.

With that thought, Merlin opens the door to the guest chambers, reserved only for those of rank. Carpets and screens and carved mahogany furniture - Agravaine had certainly secured himself a status with enough luxury, yet it wasn't enough - he had still continued to work against his nephew. What more had he hoped? To become a King? With Morgana by his side? Merlin chuckles at the idea, for Morgana's opinion of him was a little better than of a court jester. _She would have never... _He stops again.

_It is not a contest._

After a moment's consideration, Merlin kneels at the hearth, where dust and ashes cover the coals. With a spell he reverses the burning process, revealing several destroyed notes. Leaving some in the fireplace, the others in a locked drawer, Merlin has closed another chapter. One he never hopes to revisit again.

Leaving the evidence in the room behind him, Merlin hears sounds approaching, with barely enough time to hide behind the corner of the stairwell.

"I just can't believe that of my Uncle. Not without solid proof." Arthur's voice echoes at the other end of the corridor. What Gaius will reply, Merlin won't stay to listen. It will make but little difference now.

* * *

Despite all this relief, Merlin won't get much rest for the next couple of days. Sleep has lost it's dominion on him, leaving him with an overactive mind, full of bad thoughts, alone in his bed. Ever since that last time, or actually - the first time, his desires won't let him be. The nights are the worst, but he won't have to hide, to pretend he's okay. During daytime, he can but count the hours in fear and hope that the bargained days will pass soon, at times wanting it to be longer, sometimes wanting it to be over already. For Morgana to spit insults at him, ones that he, deep down, thinks he deserves.

Arthur says he's a masochist. He called him a sadist in return, and received a pitcher at his head. It missed. Morgana never would. That's the difference between good and evil, and he should know better, should be able to tell by now. Yet with Morgana, everything was both.

"You look different."

"Mmm... sorry?" _Nice, Merlin. Not suspicious at all._

"Ever since you came back. After my uncle's betrayal..." Arthur muses, then continues in earnest, "You warned me about him and I didn't listen. You almost _died_ because of him, because of my foolish trust."

"It's fine. I'm quite fine now." Merlin smiles, uncomfortable with the sudden recognition. In truth, he was quite happy lurking in the sidelines.

"I've been thinking of how to... thank you." Arthur continues, steering towards yet another embarrassing admission. "You've been my loyal servant for many years, always by my side, never skipped a battle. Gwaine is right - you have shown amazing courage, equal to my knights, all without expecting anything in return."

"Uhm... it's fine, really." He's beginning to go red around the edges. The King grins, enjoying it fully.

"Which is why this can't continue. You won't be doing this any longer."

Merlin's mouth opens in shock.

"Are you firing me?"

"No, you dumbass. I'm promoting you." He waits for a reaction, but Merlin is too stunned to lift an arm. Or even to close his mouth.

"You would be doing no more of the scrubbing and the mucking of stables which you, Merlin, - as much as you love it - are hardly the best at. From now on, you will hand these tasks to George, or - if you're in a mood to disappoint him - any other servant under my command. You shall keep an eye on all the mundane matters, and continue to assist me personally, make preparations for my daily hearings and ceremonial duties, sort out the scrolls and papers that keep littering my desk..." Arthur is doing his best to make it sound like a heavy chore, while Merlin does most of that already, though unofficially.

"Wait, does it mean... " Merlin beams, brighter than the sun, "I'll be... your advisor?"

"A s_uper_visor," Arthur clarifies, nonchalant. "And the payment will be mostly the same."

"There... won't be any special outfits to go with that?" Merlin cringes inwardly. Last time Arthur made him wear something different ended quite badly.

"No." The King displays a jagged smile. Only slightly evil. "But it can be arranged."

* * *

Before Merlin knows it, the next few days will be over. He will rise with a heavy heart, stuttering and beating hard, but his mind will be clear. He will ride through the forest, to the hovel, and they will talk. He will reason with her and bargain a long peace, set the foundations of Albion's prosperity. _Whatever it takes._

Except that one thing... of course. That's not what she will want. Nor he. And he is not spending his last bedtime hours lingering on that. That would be indulging.

Which he does not.

"And I thought most men slept shirtless." A soft, feminine voice drags him out of his slumber. Merlin blinks, drowsily. A candle springs to flame by his bedside.

In a brand new velvety dress, Morgana is standing over his bed, her arms crossed, looking every bit the shrewd wife he never had.

Apparently her favoured black gowns were difficult to come by. The new one is burgundy with a glint of red, almost maroon in the shadows. The cut is low and square around her cleavage, her bare neck, unadorned yet regal. Matching, deep ruby lips. Her hair is half loose, less tangled, combed over her head. Indeed, she looks lovelier than ever before. Self-assured, determined.

Merlin props up, his eyebrows raised in greeting. Morgana watches him, nonplussed. A moment passes.

Her mouth quirks.

* * *

**A/N: Now you know how badly I'm diverging from the show, since Merlin is finally getting some credit ; ) Hope he didn't come off as too conniving, for in a way he already is, wherever Arthur and the destiny is concerned. And talking about unhealthy obsessions, having Morgana lurking around in Camelot would be fun, tilt the balance of powers again... **

So yeah, I decided to flesh out the ending into a few more chapters. I hope you are excited and enjoying the new course. Let me know, and thank you all for reviewing! I makes a great difference! : )


	10. Out of Mind

A/N: Morgana just can't stay away, can she..

* * *

.

**Out of Mind**

. . .

Merlin scrambles out of his sheets, alarmed how easily she could weasel her way into Camelot - into _his_ chambers - in the middle of the night. The black mop of hair pops up in the candlelight, eyebrows creeping higher as he sizes her up.

She's always been proud of her looks, but a little reminder can't hurt. Not the slightest.

"How... What are you doing here?" Merlin demands hoarsely. Magic should have warned him of her arrival the minute she cast the spell. Which is why she didn't. Just smiles at him, and explains as if to a simpleton.

"I might be exiled, but you're forgetting the fact that I lived here for most of my life. Don't dare assume you know the tunnels better than I."

Merlin rolls his eyes. Sighs and props on his elbows, recovering from whatever short nap he had managed to grab.

"I mean - it's not even a full week yet."

"I don't have time for your pedantry - we will talk here and now." She sits and smoothes her skirts, again too pleasant when she looks up, "Or is there something else you'd rather be doing?"

Morgana smirks as several colours flash on his face: his conflicts, his plights and doubts. Delicious.

"I don't care about the hour, Morgana," Merlin huffs and glances at the main room in its murky stillness. "It's just - if Gaius woke up..."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that."

His blue eyes grow suddenly very dark, very cold.

"If you... _harmed_ him, in _any_ way - "

Morgana merely tuts, not taking threats from a man in a nightshirt.

"That would be difficult with a simple sleeping spell. Which you should know already, given how many times you tested it on me," she replies with a searing look of her own, then saunters off to the sleeping physician and pokes at his face. The old man stays asleep.

Merlin lets out a slow breath. The fire in his eyes dies. - Settles, rather. Seething silently, like embers. One waft of air and they'll burn again.

Morgana smiles again, increasingly amused by this situation. - Much had changed since the last time. They were on his home terrain now, but she had the upper hand. Make too much noise, and the guards will come. Cause too much scuffle and Merlin will have explaining to do in the morning. She can't imagine he spoke truth about his disappearance._ This is Merlin, after all. _Hiding is in his nature.

"Did you tell him?" she asks nevertheless, nodding at the old man. _He knows what she means_.

"No," Merlin answers, looking away. _How is has he been faring these days? _Same as her perhaps, except worse. What with that moral code he stands for.

"Afraid what he'd think?"

"He mustn't worry." He meets her stare firmly in the dark, the dim glow from his room the only light. Their shadows dance on the wall, the candle flickers. "I meant what I said. I won't let anything bad happen to him."

Morgana straightens visibly. It's a fair warning, one she understands. She's had people close to her, too. Long time ago. _How old it makes her sound.._. Hard and brittle. Like frozen steel.

Merlin's gaze wanders briefly, careful not to linger on the various aspects of her anatomy too long, as if she were naked right this moment. Or perhaps he imagines it so?

Morgana allows herself the tiniest of smiles. But she does no have time for this. Not tonight.

"I did not come all this way for a staring contest." She clears her throat.

Merlin gives a curt nod. He rises, goes to latch the door to bar any more intruders, and takes another chair to the table. Pots and pans and purple liquid clutter the table. Gaius must be in a middle of some experiment. Amazing how much you can accomplish without magic. _With sedatives and loads of lies._

Merlin stands by the table, and pulls out a seat for her in mock politeness. She sits like a the lady of court she once was. It's like the old times again. In magic and hiding. Except now, there's Gaius snoring behind them. And no lies left.

Merlin seems too much at ease, using his magic to retrieve a fruit basket. How hard it must be not to use such fluid, innate skill. Does he miss it when he's not using it? Or is he too set on the path of self-loathing to want anything different?

"Apple?" Merlin offers, biting into one.

Morgana keeps her arms crossed. Not need to make it easier on him. "You said _soon_. What did you mean by that?"

"I want a truce. Not a cease fire. I want you to stop plotting against Camelot."

"And why would I agree to such treaty? What's in it for me?"

"You can name your conditions. There must be something you want."

"You have no power to grant them to me."

"But Arthur does. I can ask him. And you know you can't overthrow him, not as long as I'm here, at his side."

"Even when he finds out about you? Even if he has you exiled and persecuted?"

Merlin has already weighed that option, so he simply shrugs. "I'd do the same, keep fighting for him. Protect him from the distance, whether he likes it or not. I'm not doing this for myself, you see. This is for the good of the realm. You're a warlord, Morgana. You may win battles, but you cannot win hearts..." He trails off, looking somewhere far off. "The people deserve peace and prosperity."

"And of course it's Arthur who'll bring that?" she bites back, hurt.

"It's been foretold."

"I've been told other things. As was my sister."

"Did she tell you about me? Did she warn you about your demise? Much has been averted before. The prophecies will come true, but only if we let it."

"So you're the seer now?" Morgana mocks.

Merlin shrugs again. His eyes linger on her wrist. The bracelet is missing.

She looks at it, too, with a smug grin.

"I've been doing some research of my own."

His eyes twinkle with curiosity, something she won't satisfy but enjoys anyway. A sly grin spreads over her lips, and she's going to leave it like that... for the time being. _At least till she figures out what this means. _There are many mouths of truth, beyond Camelot and Merlin.

Morgana stands up, secures the cape around her shoulders. It's midnight blue, almost black in this light.

"You're going away?" Merlin sounds surprised, almost... downcast. "Where?"

"It's none of your business, of course," she removes herself from the table, her voice kept cool. "But if you must know, I'll be staying with the Catha."

"If they even want you there..."_  
_

Morgana detests explaining herself, but that condescending tone simply sets her off. Or perhaps because if she won't, he will try to follow her and find out what she's up to. And as much as she has lacked company lately, she prefers to keep it that way.

"On the contrary, I am long expected. As the last remaining High Priestess, I'm bound by duty to the Triple Goddess and her followers. The warrior priests of the Catha are our brothers in arms." The mention of that ancient tie makes her feel particularly proud of her cause.

"Oh." Merlin might be Emrys, but his knowledge of the old ways seems limited at best. _Even Gaius knows more._

Morgana has no clue why she's told him that. Or why she even cares. She's far above it. Her coming has been but a warning, a harbinger of times to come. He should tremble, not stare back at her like that.

She leans in, anyway. To take something back, to assure herself of what she suspects already. Something he denies.

_Always hiding. Ever the__ pretender._

Dipping her wet mouth down to his own, she steals a few hungry gasps, inviting him to answer in kind. But before he can reach out and touch her, she backs out.

His lips are smeared with her crimson. He's shaking a bit. Morgana straightens to take it all in. The open-mouthed lust he regards her with.

Silent glee trickles deep inside her navel. Her mouth curves in satisfaction:

"For the road."

* * *

**A/N: I'll be sticking with season 4 for most of the time, so expect more canon events coming up. With a few changes, of course.**

This chapter could've been from either point of view, yet very different in tone... Do you prefer Merlin or Morgana as the viewpoint/monologue character, or both, like a balance? As always, I appreciate you reading and your lovely reviews!


	11. Out of Order

A/N: Morgana's quest to Catha.

* * *

.

**Out of Order**

. . .

The night is cold when she leaves Camelot. The chilly breeze brushes down her neck, just like it did all those years ago, when she was young and afraid, looking for answers. _Only to be brought back by force, her hopes thwarted, the druids slaughtered._

The citadel that looms beyond, white and majestic - this once home, twice lost dungeon of dreams and failures, still haunts her dreams at night and plagues her mind through the days, not letting her be. If she conquered it, the place and the memories that tied her to it, she could finally be at ease. The yearning for home would be quenched.

Morgana mounts her white mare, hidden in the nearby woods. There's hardly any wind this night, the forest is silent, the crackle of branches and the gallop the only sounds in the night. She come to ride here, back in lighter days. Sometimes with knights, sometimes with Arthur, betting and laughing as she won the race.

Arthur denied it later, embarrassed by his defeat. _I may be a girl, but I can still beat you. _Uther just laughed.

How confident and naïve she had been, buying into the King's goodwill. Her guardian only loved her when she was tameable: cross him and he would turn into a hard-handed brute, his ward a mere subject he could throw into the dungeons. His own flesh and blood meant nothing when he grabbed her at the throat in the council room, disowned her with a blink of an eye. _Nothing, nothing could make her forget that._

Morgana growls angrily, the mare sputters as she digs her heels to her sides too sharply.

Getting emotional never got the work done. Morgause's teachings are wise, but futile. Even after his demise, Uther still gets to her, provoking tears of anger and self-pity. Merlin thinks the matter is finished. Thinks she should stop now. But it's not done - far from it. For though she got her vengeance, Arthur got her throne.

_After everything she went through. The time and work and lives lost._

_Patience sister, patience. _Morgause is like a part of her mind now, a reassuring voice when she's feeling overwhelmed. It's not her sister, though; just an image, like a reflection in the river. How she misses her. Her cold hands and her stern brow, her arms circling her body, assuring her of her ends, advising her not to think in hurt but in purpose.

Thus, Uther became her purpose, her game. One she had won. _Then why does it still hurt?_

* * *

Morgana passes the standing stones. It's a long journey, but she can afford to a brief stop. This place is like an old friend.

She presses her palms onto the rough surface. The stone is cold and indifferent. Untouched by darkness or light. It simply is.

A sacred power pulses from its base, seated deep in the ground. It's magic is ancient, older than the citadel and woods around it. It was left untouched by Uther for its power is only known to a few, those who carry the gift. A landmark for those born of the Old Religion.

Merlin should be able to find it, too. Did he sense her like she sensed these stones? Radiating yearning and familiarity, a bond surpassed by relations of blood. The bond of magic... It all made sense now - their meetings, the secrets she'd shared - in the light of this discovery. Long after his betrayal.

_A mere servant,_ she had thought then. Angry, humiliated, beyond reason. _How could he, sister?_

The truth only makes it more bitter.

Merlin was Emrys. Emrys was Merlin. How unfortunate. Or perhaps - for the better. Their connection is still there, an obstruction for them both. Leaving both undecided, unable to kill the other.

She had loomed over his dozing form - slowly drifting into dreams - yet she would not lift her hand to retrieve the dagger from her pouch. Destiny protects him, like an armor, solid an impenetrable. She could not get so close with an ill intent. All that's left for her is to reason. To persuade him, again and again. Turn his stubborn heart towards hers. Not Arthur's.

_What had he done to deserve it? What had she not? Did he really care so little?_

Morgana closes her eyes, reminding herself of the opposite.

He had refused to kill her, no matter of her taunts. She had jabbed at him, challenged him, cornered him and taken all she could. Given all of herself in return. That should've been enough. _What more could he want?_

Again - getting too emotional... Perhaps her dreams had made her such? Sleeping without her bracelet closeby was a dangerous feat. Morgause had warned her against it. Now she saw why. It was not just the nightmares that got blocked - it was her hidden wishes, fears and desires. All that which made her the person she was, the myriad of emotions that called to her soul. Made blissfully silent.

Unobstructed, she dreamt again like a greedy child, loving and fearing it in equal measure. There was too much of old Camelot in those dreams. Futures that had long become impossible. Pasts that could've been. Yet despite their vivacity, her Future remained elusive, uncertain like herself.

Now, more than ever, Morgana needs clarity again. A solution. And she knows who could give it to her.

The Old Religion will come to her help.

* * *

She reaches the city just at the break of dawn. The sun shines over the southern sea like glass or field of ice. A single bridge leads to the gates accross the water. The streets are filled with scents and sounds, the barking of dogs and shouts in a language she does not know. It's a place for traders, left untouched by wars and kings.

A city indifferent to all laws. All but gold.

Morgana leaves her horse at the entrance to the Catha temple, one of the last ones left today. The halls are thick with incense and strange artefacts. Countless of candles heat the air. The priest is seated, deep in meditation, but she knows he can see her, even as she circles the room to face him.

"You are Alator of the Catha, warrior and priest."

Alator awakens from his trance, eyes transfixed on her.

"You are Morgana Pendragon, High Priestess of the Triple Godess, and last of your kind."

Morgana bows in reverence, pleased by the welcome. Not many like him remained in this world. The priest stands, too.

"What do you seek here?"

"My sight is dim, faded from the lack of use." Morgana extends her hand with the bracelet on her wrist. "I want it to be reinstated, made pure again."

Alator studies the item, carefully between both hands.

"This item has held magical properties since the day it was forced, yet the silencing power is but a spell from recent times. Undoing that will take time and concentration." He measures her, assesing her with a gaze that could pierce armour. Morgana won't move or flinch. "You have indeed come to the right place."

He bows, and shows her to her chambers.

* * *

The ritual is long and it takes nearly a week to complete.

Morgana has been sweating and chanting, her tongue bending around foreign syllables. These methods are new, but she's learning fast. Her mind is getting lighter. She's almost there. The haze around her mind is clearing, blowing aside like mist in the wind.

Soon, her destiny begins to reveal itself.

_A bright castle begins to form, it's tall and strong..._

Yet when she reaches out, the picture changes, showing her things she does not want. She does not need Merlin. Not here. _Nor anywhere._

"The priestess is conflicted about her goals," Alator observes.

"I know I am destined to bring back the old ways," Morgana assures. Many have said that before. She _herself_ has seen it.

The warrior priest won't deny it, but adds, mysteriously, "Yes, but you won't have to do it alone."

Morgana rises from the mat. Shock and curiosity blind her for a moment, the visions becoming clear.

_ Is it possible then? Will she be able to convince him? Will Emrys __see her way?_

Without an explanation, Alator exits the room, his bodyguard following him like a shadow.

Warrior and a priest. Servant and master. _Two sides of a coin._

_._

Having washed and changed out of the ceremonial robes, Morgana packs her belongings and leaves. Her mare has grown impatient with her absence. She hushes the beast and takes the bridles, guiding them through the bustling streets. On the market, the merchants are busy selling exotic fruits and oils, expensive fabrics, incense and spice. She savours the scents and smoke in the air, reminiscing about her dream.

It is far from clear, but it's only a matter of time now.

Morgana's journey comes to a brief halt. The city gates are blocked by a caravan of goods so long it requires guarding. Knights in chain mail laugh and joke with the servants, some of whom looking strangely familiar. With a shock Morgana notices the emblem, a golden dragon on red, and realizes that these carts are all headed to the very castle she hailed from.

"Is that all for Camelot?" Morgana asks, puzzled, and the gatekeeper nods.

"Why would Arthur need all these things?" she laughs, wondering if the King has turned greedy.

"For the royal wedding, of course."

* * *

**A/N: I was disappointed when the show decided to "cut off" Morgana's dreams with that bracelet. This is where her ability to relate to the pain and suffering of others was particularly evident. Morgause had plenty of reasons to do that, but to me, it seemed like the first step away from the old Morgana.**

Next: back to Camelot. Thank you for reading and your feedback. Hope you enjoyed the update!


	12. Out of Right

A/N: Big day in Camelot.

* * *

.

**Out of Right**

. . .

It's the third day of nuptial celebrations. Guests and gifts are flowing through the gates of Camelot till every corner is brimming with music and merriment. The air is ripe with flowers and food. Or sweating men and horses - if you're doomed to spend your time at the training grounds.

Merlin is more than a little relieved that the jousting tournament is over without any incidents. Not just because of the high risk of injuries such displays of knighthood presented, but because it kept him distracted from the real threats beyond - and perhaps within - the walls. While he enjoyed spending these days at Arthur's side, it he was nervous about leaving the rest of the castle unheeded.

Danger could be hidden anywhere, in an unguarded vat of wine or in the overladen trays of food, or maybe... disguised as some of those suspicious-looking turbaned men and veiled women, carrying luxuries from faraway lands. Guinevere was never the lavish kind, but Arthur would hear none of that - he is adamant to show exactly how important his Queen-to-be is to him and to his Kingdom, and cutting costs is not a way to it.

Easy for him to say, for he's not the newly-appointed overseer of kingly matters. The royal wedding and coronation are Merlin's first and probably the greatest task. To which he would commit himself wholeheartedly, if not the little distractions in his head.

It takes him three quarters of an hour to go over the list. Invitations and seats for lords and ladies, their animosities and relations to each other. Guinevere, who already had much to do with his appointment to this new office, insisted helping him with the preparations, in fact doing most of it, and nothing he would say could convince her to do otherwise. -_ It is _her_ wedding too, after all._

Aside from that, it's also a major historical event, something he's been waiting for so long, sometimes even without any hope, so he can't - _will not_ - let anything go wrong with it now. Won't spend this precious time worrying about Morgana.

_But he does. And if they only knew how..._

Gaius is already suspecting something, but won't bring it up now. Merely watches in silence as he keeps fidgeting throughout the fitting for the jacket he's receiving for the ceremony, Gwen's orders.

"Ouch."

"Oops. I'm sorry. Sir."

Merlin wants to swat the young apprentice right across the head. - Not for sticking him with the needle, but for calling him a S_ir_, for he's no knight or a lord, but a loyal servant and friend to the royal couple.

"Is this really necessary?" Merlin winces the third time he feels the sharp edge against his skin. Just grazing, not actually touching, and that is so much worse, for his patience is all but gone now. _There's only so much teasing one can take._

"It is." Guinevere's pleasant voice rings out in the room.

"You can't show up at the ceremony wearing the same clothes you did when mucking the stables." The Future queen laughs, nodding at the master tailor, them moves over to fondly pinch Merlin's cheek. For a perplexing moment, he is reminded by a touch of another. The moment passes, like a dark dream.

Merlin lets out a mock grumble.

"If My Lady insists..."

"She does. You should not be shy to accept the credit you already deserve."

Gwen circles around him admiring the master's handiwork - a long burgundy jacket, darker than the Camelot's red, closer to Morgana's. He is _not_ thinking avout that low-cut dress. Not at all.

The Queen takes the list from the table, and scasts one last look. "Besides, looking smart never hurt with the ladies."

Merlin chuckles weakly. "One can hope."

* * *

Gaius had been observing him for some time now, but didn't say a word till the sewing was done and the tailor left the chambers.

The minute he does, Merlin's cheerful demeanor slumps into a tired pout. He wants to be happy about the wedding, wants to believe that all will go well, but the lack of knowledge of Morgana's intentions is eating away at him, making him see her n most unlikely places, turning each new visitor a sorceress in disguise. _Perhaps she is here, even as they speak?_

"I - I should go and check the hall..." Merlin shrugs out of the jacket.

"You already did. Twice."

"Third time's a charm, eh?" He tries his goofy smile, but Gaius is not easily fooled.

"You're becoming slightly too paranoid, Merlin," his mentor states, matter-of-factly, probably referring to the time they passed through the lower town.

Merlin had been scanning the newcomers in the city, looking for anyone remotely suspicious. Anyone with magic. It's useless to deny the shock that went through his spine when he saw women with elegant gait, dark hair and milk-white skin - and disappointment that followed, for none of them bore those green eyes and curved lips he's come to know so well. A poor match to his expectations.

_Expectations? Can that be expectation now? _For as much as he fears to see Morgana's appear in Camelot on this particular day, another part of him is not so sure...

Merlin shudders. "Paranoid? I'm just cautious. You never know, you know..."

Gaius presses on. "There's things you haven't told me, isn't it? About Agravaine's disappearance?"

"Yes." Merlin nods, somberly. He's been yearning to tell him for some time now. "I was dealing with Morgana, when he came there. We had a fight, Agravaine came in between, and I... I killed him Gaius."

"Dear goodness."

"I swear I didn't meant to. It was an accident."

"I believe you." A wrinkled hand rubs his shoulders. But then, another question rises, inevitably.

"What about Morgana, did you vanquish her, too?"

"No. I could have, but... I can't. We fought and argued fought again. And..." He feels a blush coming, but forces it down. "I hoped - I thought I saw something in her. I thought I could change her," Merlin admits, finally able to confide his worries. "Gaius, why can't I convince her?"

"She has chosen her side and stuck with it. Don't think there's an easy way out of it... The stakes are too high for her."

"Do you think she'll turn up and try to ruin the ceremony?"

The idea has been in his mind so long that voicing it actually makes is less threatening. His mentor nods.

Merlin moans to himself, dipping his head to his hands, rubbing them though his hair. "If there is anything to prevent this... I would do it."

"My boy, I'm afraid there's but one thing we _can_ do," Gaius concludes, somberly. "Wait and see."

* * *

The guests are merry, the hall is bright with candles and laughter. Gwen looks stunning in her new crown. The people look in awe at the royal couple and the glorious realm they promise to build. Merlin looks worried.

Morgana is still nowhere to be seen. It's not like her to give up. Not after the lengths she went to before. Merlin can only hope that his presence is a warning enough. That if he kept his mind alert and his eye on the royal couple, nothing bad would happen.

If he just keeps looking...

He spots her finally, after another patrol outside the hall. He knows its her, even under her blood red veil, the golden rims of her eastern attire. Walking briskly, fast and determined, headed where the feast is held.

"Morgana..." he pulls her to an alcove, just as she did some years ago. The situation is yet too familiar and brings about many memories, good and bad. Merlin wills it down, and asks, hoarsely, "Where do you think you're going?"

The sorceress stares back at him, white teeth bared behind her shapely red lips, a sharp contrast to her black hair. She smiles, briefly, before she goes back to a brooding half-pout.

"Such strange question, even from you. My brother dearest is getting married, surely it would be rude not to attend such an feast."

Her expression turns feral, yet it does not scare him. Not like it did once. He lets go of her, but maintains his stare.

Something is different. Her anger is still there, but more open, mixed with hurt and desperation. It's like her mask is slipping, though she still makes a good act of it.

"What are you up to?"

"That's the question, isn't it? With so many food and drinks around, so many things I can turn you into..."

"You wouldn't..."

She pulls herself free and out of the alcove, creating a gap between their bodies. "Go ahead - stop me. Let's see what Arthur and his guests think of your tricks."

Her laughter sounds like falling beads in the corridor leading to the great hall, where music is sounding. Merlin darts after her, grabs her by the waist, and pushes her through the door on the right. It leads to a guest room, an empty one, with few items of furniture and a bed.

Whoever it is intended for is not there.

The sorceress kicks and struggles, but he keeps his grasp on her back, wanting to make a point. "I'm not letting you ruin this celebration."

Just about then, Morgana's eyes flash gold. A vase flies around, missing him by an inch. "Don't expect me to stand aside while a serving girl steals my crown. _I_ wore it first."

"Ygraine wore it first. Arthur's mother. Not yours," Merlin reasons, calmly. Though both her arms are trapped by now, Morgana won't stop fighting, forcing him to grip harder on her arms. A book hits him square on the head. He blocks the other one.

Merlin rasps close to her ear. "You knew the difference between right and wrong once. When you had the chance to kill the king and you didn't. Too bad you could not stay that way."

Morgana looks over her shoulder, her eyes grow wide for a second. Then, she laughs.

"For how long have you been stalking me? Was I ever alone, did you spy on me in my chambers, too?"

Merlin remembers the one time he saw Morgana undressing, but keeps it to himself. _It only happened once. By accident. _He almost doesn't blush._  
_

"Of course not."

Morgana laughs again and, sensing that his hold on her has slackened, slams him into the wall behind. But before she can turn around and escape the room, she is flung on the floor, too. Merlin scrambles after her, locks his hand around her stockinged ankle. _Now that's highly inappropriate._ - It's growing even more inappropriate as he brings it higher, over her calf, up her thigh.

_Why is Morgana not struggling? _He can't fight this fight alone. _Why is she being so difficult, yet so pliant the next moment? Why can't he be attracted to someone less volatile, less worth fighting for..._

She's pulling him up now, by the lapels of his new jacket, her skirt rising with the friction. Her mouth tastes just as he remembers. Only better.

The sounds outside are all but dim, some people passing. Merlin looks up, and the lock clicks shut in a flash of magic. The why-s and if-s are lost to him now, drowned by the sensation having her so close to him again.

* * *

"Quite a wedding night, I'd say." Morgana stretches on the blankets, wearing but her healing bracelet and a sated smile.

Their clothes are strewn across the room, her veil, his boots, the shards all over. What a mess.

Merlin can't even open his mouth to argue. Their second time over was so much rougher, much more passionate, for they both had been angry and desperate to begin with. Both struggling to convince the other, desperate to keep what they held true. It's a miracle they haven't combusted each other. - _Yet_.

Somewhere downstairs, the guests are dancing, celebrating the new era with the new Queen. He should be there, happy, untroubled. Not here, not with her. Not wanting to do this again. Over and over.

_What happened to his sanity? Is that what is like to be Morgana? To act on your desires, no matter what you lost? No matter who you hurt?_

"I can't stay here. They'll be wondering where I am."

"If they haven't already."

Merlin chuckles, grimly. "Was _this_ your big plan? Me caught in bed with you..."

"Oh, you know I can do better," she drawls, impossibly close. Her skin is milky and soft. "Besides - it was you who started it."

Merlin opens and closes his mouth. For that is actually true.

* * *

**A/N: Hee, Merlin is getting pretty good at defusing Morgana... We're now headed closer towards the end of the season. I'm estimating three more chapters in total, four at most. Expect battles and blood. And a nice twist.**

Thank you for reading and reviews. Go on, drop me a line to say you're there, it would mean a lot to me!


	13. Out of Faith

A/N: I had some trouble getting this right, loads and loads of rewrites - hence the slight delay. Hope you enjoy the update.

* * *

.

**Out of Faith**

. . .

Merlin dreams, sprawled across the bed: a mess of long pale limbs and sheets coiled around his waist. Morgana dresses quietly, slipping into one layer of clothing after another, then a dark cape over it all. Curious, she peers at her shape in the mirror. Her face looks paler than usual, her eyes shadowed, her body worn from zealous drive and too little heed.

The last time she looked that gaunt was after her sister rescued her, nursed her back from the brink of death. She who'd promised to take care of her, to become her sole loyalty. _Unwavering. Safe._ Morgana had believed in her, the intent that drove her every move. The way she took away the pain and molded it into something solid. She'd become her caring Gwen, her beloved parents, her demanding ward, her protective sibling, the one friend she could trust. Morgause had replaced them all, made her forget her loss. Almost. _- Mourn not for those who hurt you, for your hurt will make you strong._ _It will become their undoing._

The idea of justice has taken a blow since then. All that remains now is revenge. _And when that crumbles, what then?_

Morgana stands to leave. Shards of glass and wood clink at her feet as she steps around the broken furniture, a testament of their struggle. The warlock murmurs in his sleep, twists around and, mistaking the pillow for a person, settles back in a sigh.

Then, out of a sudden - the high metallic clang of warning bells ringing through the castle.

Trained to recognize that sound anywhere, Merlin shoots up on the bed, his eyes searching the darkness, meeting hers. Unknowingness replaces with suspicion. Morgana smirks, silently wondering who beat her to this brilliant timing. Merlin is not so amused.

"What is going on?"

Morgana hushes him, just parts the door. A thin streak of light escapes through the crack. The torches in the hallway burn still, guards scurry about. There, in the great hall, roaring at the inebriated knights - those who had not made it to their chambers - Sir Leon's commanding voice:

"All men loyal to Arthur, gather to the courtyard, line up in full arms. We ride out before dawn. Prepare for a battle."

_A battle_, Morgana laughs, _in their current state? After a night of feast, with men still reeling of mead?_ Her mind is filled with awe and not a little jealousy. Whoever is attacking Camelot at this hour has guts and cunning. _A tactical genius. _And perhaps - an ally.

* * *

A young squire lies stunned on the entrance to the lower vaults. Already changed into trousers, Morgana measures his leather jacket against her own arm, then, deftly begins to fasten the straps. _Merlin is a fool to think she'll miss anything else this night._

Heaving up a bag of provision to hide her face behind, she joins the flow of soldiers and servants headed fo the courtyard. She passes as one of them, with her baggy trousers and long cloak, her raven hair tied back and tucked under a large hood. Amidst all that turmoil, she's no more conspicuous than a shadow on the wall.

It is hardly a feat either to trail the troops through the woods, nor is avoiding the scouts a problem. Arthur expects enemies ahead, not behind him. Riding silently on the dark steed she had stolen, Morgana follows the army like a shadow in its wake.

At the first rays of dawn she can see the knights become increasingly groggy, their merriment fading, slowly sobering up. She can see Sir Gwaine nodding away in the front. The mighty Percival is perhaps the one most fit for a fight. Morgana can't see the rest, wisely staying clear from Arthur and Merlin at the head of the regiment. She cannot risk being recognized.

There at the springs, the regiment makes its first stop.

Sensing an opportunity to know more about the assailant, Morgana ventures closer to hear the conversation between the knights. So far, she's caught but shouts and small phrases, so she crawls closer to the water, hides behind a boulder and listens. There is laughing and joking and male camaraderie between some four to five men, drinking greedily and splashing their faces. A faint smell of ale and sweat drifts in the breeze.

Morgana wrinkles her nose and waits for more truths to come out of this male brawling.

"Never thought that Odin had the balls to attack Arthur on his wedding night..."

Another voice joins in. "He nearly got invaded himself, before he struck that alliance."

"So, Odin has the balls, but it's the Southerner that holds them fast?"

A roar of laughter bursts out, echoing on the rocks. Morgana rolls her eyes.

Merlin's calm and sober voice. "Come on - hurry up. Arthur wants you to get moving as fast as possible."

* * *

The men leave in a drum of footsteps and the chime of chain mail, fading into the distance. Morgana stays behind the rock, pondering over what she heard.

The stream trickles merrily down the rocks. Realising she is thirsty as well, Morgana moves up to the stream and cups her hands. The water is freezing. She takes a few gulps, then reaches for her flask.

"I saw you follow us."

The voice behind her makes her stand up fast, spin around with her sword unsheathed. She prefers to use magic, but the instincts of her body are strong. Merlin glances at the tip of the blade, face moulding into a mask of despondency, a calm threat.

"Was it you behind it, all along?"

Despite their natural animosity, his suspicion hurts. Their coming together still too fresh. Morgana bristles instantly. Her voice turns cold, distant.

"Your faith in me is astounding," she quips still, head held high. "Do you really believe I can command armies from leagues away?"

She has a point. For a moment Merlin's glance wavers, over her disguise, the scraps of armour, her dark cloak pooling around her. She knows she looks suspicious, there's no way to deny it. But before he can open her mouth to speak, arrows land at their feet.

They've been ambushed.

The shouts flood the woods around them, the clank of metal against shields and armor, just out of sight. Alarmed, Merlin draws his sword as well. An black-turbaned warrior storms down the cliff, overlooking the water.

Merlin weilds a sword, clumsily, adamant not to risk using his magic this openly. The enemy's blade nearly hits its mark, leaving a bloody scrape on his neck. The idea of anyone hurting him -_ anyone but her_ - tilts Morgana into rage.

With a piercing scream, the warrior falls. Merlin spins around, eyes wide. She realizes then, the sound came from her. Without further thought, she begins lashing at the men that storm them. Suddenly, there's many more, in both red and black capes, coming towards them. _She has become the centre of the attack. _

Morgana stuns and flings the enemies in all directions, while both sides stare in horror. There's a rumble in the earth and she no longer knows if it's her doing or Merlin's, the deadly surge of magic that ripples through the field.

The attackers' withdraw, changing their tactics. A rain of arrows fills the air. Some freeze in mid-air, some turn against the shooters. But single shots are harder to predict. _Sooner or later, one will hit._

Wanting a way out, Morgana goes into retreat, darting for the trees, cutting through the enemy lines - reaching quite far, when something shap pierces her shoulder.

Looking down, she sees a dart's end sticking out just below her collarbone.

_"No_."

The ground underneath gives away, as she falls on the soft mossy floor of the woods. The taste of blood fills her mouth, sprinkles like beads of dew around her. Around her, soldiers kill and get killed, yet somehow - so distant... Then, darkness settles on her like a blanket.

* * *

_Morgana_. _Morgana_. "Morgana..."

She has no idea how much time has passed since she received her wound, but the scuffle is over, the forest is silent, just Merlin kneeling over her, his touch shaking her awake. Covering her shoulder with his palm, she realises he's pulled out the arrow.

_"Ge hailige!" _Nothing. "_Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare._" But a slight tingle.

Merlin repeats the spells again, louder, pressing tighter on her wound. It keeps bleeding. She's growing faint again, but his voice commands her back.

"No, no. Stay here, don't sleep yet."

He is close to panicking now, and she knows why. His magic is useless against such injury, and he's too upset to cast it properly, with concentration. He keeps, trying, still.

Morgana tries to smile, but the blood trickling in her mouth makes it difficult. After some coughing, she manages at last, "Why all this trouble?"

Merlin sniffs hard, then cluckles his tears. It's a poor act. Her eyes search his, and now she's unbearably sad. For him, but for herself as well. How unfortunate.

"How many reasons can there be, Morgana?"

Something wet trickles down the sides of her face, close to her ear. Something other than blood. She's been dying before, in his arms, but this... _This_ is almost too much.

"You don't mean... I never thought you..."

Merlin leans closer, then presses their foreheads together, gently, as he whispers,

"For a seer, you can be incredibly blind."

She wants to say more, but the battle has reached them again. Voices, out in the field. One of them is Arthur's, calling out over the plains.

_"Merlin!"_ the King roars again, with a hint of panic.

Ripped out of this daze, Merlin awakens to the world around him. The sounds are very close now, just on the other side of the hill. They'll be here if he won't divert them first.

She knows he'll have to decide. And she knows what he will need to choose. Already has.

Smoothing her hair on the mossy pillow, he mutters to her ear. "I have to go, Morgana... but I will send help. Do you hear me? You'll be fine."

With that, he takes a few steps away. His neck craned at the skies, he bellows.

"_Aithusa_!"

* * *

**A/N: Whew... My first real battle scene, something I've managed to avoid so far. ****Sorry about the cliffhanger, the last chapters are quite intense and may take more time to work, so bear with me.**

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Let me know what you think : )


	14. Out of Choice

A/N: Sorry to have kept you waiting. Such a short update and so much trouble... It's just that this part was crucial for the ending I had in mind. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

.

**Out of Choice**

. . .

The trees sway gently in the wind, the sounds have distanced, the sky is clear. Morgana lies motionless on the carpet of moss and twigs, staring at the moving canopy of greens and blues. The sun is warm, spilling through the leaves like molten honey, drops of heat against her pale skin.

A strange calm settles over her, her eyes close, her mind's adrift. Numb and cold, her body is failing, while she lingers still, her bracelet keeping her alive. Just barely...

Inside her ribcage, her heart is fluttering like a trapped bird. Weak and futile. It won't be long before it stops and sleep will claim her in its heavy embrace.

All that's left now is to wait.

Then, all of a sudden - a gust of heat, smelling of smoke and burning sulphur, blasts against her face and torso, making everything tingle with magic. A spell of untold force moulds her body, healing it, coursing to the farthest nooks and tendrils, till every little part of her is filled with life.

Born anew, Morgana opens her eyes in a gasp.

Perched on a tree stump, a few paces away, the most unlikely saviour - a baby dragon greets her with a gurgling sound. Its white scales glowing in the sun, small and weightless, the rare creature stretches its wings.

_Marvelous_.

Bright blue eyes, more human than reptile, study her with open curiosity, one she can't help but return. There is understanding in this being, acceptance without demand...

Morgana watches it, speechless, as it takes off again, its white tail disappearing behind the trees.

* * *

_Merlin summoned a dragon._ The idea, still fresh, begins settling in her mind. To have those majestic creatures, under her command... Fantasies, scenarios of might and glory fill Morgana's mind like a fever dream. _Together, they could mould the future... build kingdoms... bring back magic. _Nothing could stop them -

A crackle in the shrubbery brings her back to reality. The earth rumbles.

Someone's coming.

Holding her breath, Morgana counts the footfall. One man, two, three... A group of bandits approaching - scavengers combing the woods, looking for survivors, bodies to plunder.

Out in the open, she tries to move, to sit up, but falls again with a thump. The dragon's breath is powerful, but her body is still too weak. She has lost a lot of blood, her shirt and cape soaked through and through. It will take more time for her strength to restore, the spell to finish its work.

The sounds are getting closer.

"Over here," a man shouts, moving towards her. The others follow.

"This one's still moving." The shrill scrape of sword unsheathed.

Closer still...

_"Folge min bebod," _Morgana casts with her remaining force, before everything goes blank.

* * *

The place she wakes up in is cold and damp. The air is foul, reeking like rotten food, like unwashed bodies, like... blood. The place smells like death.

Opening her eyes, Morgana realizes she's still in the forest, now darkened, the dawn lost to nightly shadows. She's alone here, not a soul in sight. The robbers lie where they fell. Beginning to rot.

Morgana sits up, testing her strength. She has no idea how long she has slept, but the fatigue that plagued her earlier is gone. Her gash on her chest is gone, fully healed, save but a pink patch to mark the injury.

Sitting on the stump, Morgana takes a moment to ponder over everything that transpired. The ambush, the fight. Ending up on the wrong side. Her fatal injury. Merlin's unexpected profession of feelings. And last but not least, being brought to life by an extinct magical species.

For the moment, it's all too much.

What shocks her more is that he hasn't returned, not even to check, to see if his plan worked, if the dragon arrived on time. Leaving her unconscious, defenceless, out in the open...

Did his words mean nothing? Was it all a lie, a way to ease his guilt?

_No_... Morgana thinks back, remembering the way he'd said that... Like it had always been there, like he'd fought it and lost, finally admitting it. To her and himself._  
_

Something must have come between, Morgana reasons, forcing away the knots in her stomach.

And she'll find out what it is.

* * *

Armed with newfound determination, Morgana sheds her bloodied clothes sets out for the springs, back where the whole thing had started.

Water bounces and streams down the rocks, flowing into the darkened pool. In this windless night, the surface is smooth like a mirror.

Leaning down to the water, Morgana drinks, then washes her face. Her dark hair spills into the water, melting the clots of dried blood tangled in her strands. Colour trickles into the pool, reflecting the crescent moon, and she sees...

_Another landscape, another time. Sun setting into reddened dusk. She is kneeling over the lake and for a moment, she does not recognise her own face. It's old, marred with years passed, etched with pain and regrets._

Disturbed by the image, Morgana pulls back, covering her face. Her cheeks feel taut and smooth, her youth still here.

It was a vision... A clearest one since those in her days in Camelot. The ones that caused her to question her sanity, to speak out, with little care for her own life. The harbingers of doom.

_Seers visions are not dreams_, Morgause had warned her,_ they are experiences._ Many before had been driven mad.

Despite their unsettling nature, she wants them... She _needs_ to see more. The Cailleach's prophecy, Alator's words, her own visions in Catha - she needs to know what they mean.

Steeling herself for what's to come, Morgana looks back into the reflection. Another image emerges_ -_ places and people begin to take shape as she sees through their eyes, lives through it all.

_The royal wedding, Arthur with his Queen, laughing, dancing... then quite another kind of dance between her and Merlin. A battlefield, blood, pain, blood again... Arthur going back for his friend. Another ambush. Ropes and bags. A tall tower, gleaming in the sun. Merlin's eyes, cold, unseeing. A southern warlord, defeating Arthur in combat. The King falling. Men falling in hundreds, thousands. A giant Dragon descending over the fields, lighting everything on its way. A child, with hatred in his eyes, and madness, pain, pain, so much pain..._

Tearing away with a yelp, Morgana hovers over the steaming water, choking back tears, reeling from the intensity of her sight. The horrible cost of it all.

No amount of dreams will erase this vision. In her mind, it will always have happened.

In reality, she still has a choice.

* * *

**A/N: I hope that this bump is over, and I can get back to my normal writing speed. Next chapter was meant to be the last one, for this arch. However, I have another plotline half-written, lying about... Should I just continue? Or make a sequel sometime later?****  
**

Thank you all for reading and reviewing! It's great to hear what you think : )


	15. Out of Here

A/N: A crossroads chapter - an end of a story arc, but not the story itself.

* * *

.

**Out of Here**

. . .

Merlin awakens with a splitting headache, followed by the pain of ropes searing into his wrists. Finding his feet on the dirty straw, Merlin struggles to sit up. A wrong decision, as it turns out...

"Oomph." The pain grows dozenfold_._

"Take it easy. You took a heavy blow." Arthur's voice warns him from the opposite cell. Resting against his knees, his hands are shackled.

"What is this?" Merlin groans, looking around what appears to be a dungeon. "Last thing I remember was you yelling at me for lagging behind..."

_Morgana_... Dying. He was supposed to create a diversion. He was not supposed to get caught. _Did Aithusa find her? __Was she still there?_

Merlin groans, covering his face_._

"No..." She can't be dead. _He would have felt it. Would he?_

"It wasn't your fault." Arthur sighs.

"What?" he jumps up, confused.

"Odin never wanted a fair battle. The attacks in the south was a diversion. He was already waiting for us when we rode into the forest. We fought them back, sent them retreating. Leon told me he saw you at the springs. I went to get you... Then, another regiment attacked, cut me off from my men. There were too many. There was nothing to be done..." Arthur's voice trails off.

Merlin sighs, lying back on the floor. "You should not have come after me."

Arthur snorts.

"Since when do we leave men behind?"

"It's doesn't matter. You're the King, you can't risk your life for anyone."

"You not just _anyone_," Arthur blurts. Then, after a short pause, "As my advisor, you know as many state secrets as I."

"Advisor?" Merlin smiles despite the headache.

"_Super_visor," Arthur amends. Throws a dried turd at him when he won't stop grinning. It bounces off the bars.

Before he can make another attempt, the door opens, and guards barge in. Both jump to their feet.

* * *

Without telling them why or where they are going, the soldiers march them out from the catacombs, up the many stairs and through wide decorated hallways, arriving at what is apparently a throne room.

Except, there's no King. Just a foreign warlord, perched on the seat, sharpening his sword. He is tall and muscular, tattoos covering his chest and upper arms, dark eyes glazed in perpetual calm. This is a man of power, one not to be trifled with.

Standing up, he moves to meet them. With a sharp shove at their back. The prisoners are pushed to their knees.

"So _you_ are the famous Arthur?" The man looks at the King, shackled, on the floor. "I've heard much about you..."

Arthur stares back, indifferent. "Unfortunately, I can't say the same."

"I'm Helios, leader of the Southron tribes. Your captor. And your doom - if your men as much as throw a stone at this stronghold."

"Where's Odin?" Arthur growls, looking around the room filled with barbarians. "I demand to speak to him."

"I'm afraid he's unavailable for a while. A very long while." Helios grins, indulgently. "I'll be handling the state matters. Starting with your capitulation."

To make a point, the edge of his sword scrapes against his neck. Arthur won't even flinch.

"I don't negotiate with traitors."

For a second, the hall is silent. Helios lets out an amused little chuckle -

Then, without a warning, he turns around the blade against Merlin's throat. "Perhaps I didn't phrase it right?"

Fear floods into Arthur's eyes, as and Helios grins wider.

"Last chance to save your friend."

"Arthur, don't..." Merlin warns, struggling against the ropes.

_All he needs is a small distraction._

* * *

Morgana takes in a familiar sight, a scene from the vision that plagues her.

The ideal world that Morgause painted was wrong. There won't be a revival of magic, only destruction. _Kingdoms will tumble into a neverending conflict, warlords each grabbing for a piece, each ministering their own justice on the scorched land..._

She's seen it. And she knows where it begins.

Morgana storms through the stronghold, hair flying, eyes ablaze, feeling every bit the goddess of war she owes her name to. Power surges through her eyes, as she fights her way through the citadel in a haze of frenzy.

_All this death and destruction, magic turning against her, disappearing from the land. Roaming the earth alone, quarrelling with lesser lords. Unworthy._

She won't let that happen.

The doors slammed open, Morgana enters the great hall. Holding his sword at Merlin's throat, the Southron looks up, eyes dark and threatening. In her dreams, they forge an alliance. Now and here, he orders her seized.

A dozen guards charge at her. _"Forþ fleoge!" _ Morgana commands.

The men drop like flies.

Arthur gapes, stuck between horror and awe.

Yet, the Southron leader is made of sturdier stuff. With a crack of his neck, Helios rises, picks up his sword, and with a long leap, charges again. Arthur blocks the blow with his shackles. The chain breaks from the impact.

"No!" Merlin roars as the sword is about to hit again. Morgana's eyes flash gold the same instant.

In one massive blast of magic Helios is thrown across the hallway, sagging down the wall like a sack of grain.

* * *

The tower burns, blue smoke rising from the tower. The ground is littered with stones and rubble. The long fight is over, ending the war.

Morgana stands at the foot of a turret. Camelot's soldiers bustle around, rounding up the survivors and releasing the prisoners. Odin's long cold body, found in the cellars, lies on the stretcher in the courtyard.

"You're well," Merlin mutters, glance wandering up and down her torso, looking for any remaining damage. "I'm glad to see." His eyes remain on her for a haunting while, before looking away, awkwardly.

"You sent the dragon?"

"Aithusa," he mumbles, smiling proudly. She nods, remembering the name...

Busy with the supplies, Gwaine casts her a suspicious look. Sir Leon won't even spare a glance. There were times when she needed their support. Now she could not care less.

She's quite fine as she is.

Merlin kicks the rocks under his feet, then sneaks a curious glance.

"Why did you aid us? I thought you hated me..."

Morgana frowns. "There are bigger things at stake than our feud."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you..." the warlock needs to point out.

Morgana laughs, humourless. "No. _You_'ve been telling me _nothing_."

Merlin blinks, guilty, but mostly confused. Well, look at that...

_How much does he really know? About his future? Their destiny? _

"What do you mean?" Blue orbs pore at her, attempting to unlock her secrets.

Her eyes narrow, her smile grows. Picking up her spoils, she sashays away.

.

The King meets her at the gates with a strange kind of smile.

"I never expected to see you on my side."

She tenses a bit, before admitting, "Neither did I."

The knights stand and watch, as Arthur takes her hand, holding it, cold against warm, in an unlikely union.

"I never wanted us to fight. We're family, Camelot is your home."

"Home?" The silence stretches, tinged with failed hope and unfilled promises. "Magic has no place in Camelot. I won't cower and hide."

Arthur releases her hand, guilt and conflict warring in his eyes.

"What you did for us... today" he mutters, before she goes. "I won't forget it."

Morgana maintains his gaze.

"I'll hold you to it."

* * *

**A/N: A small breakthrough with Arthur, setting up things to come. I don't think even Morgana knows who's side she's on right now. More stuff needs to be dealt with, before the change can happen. Which brings us to the next arc...****To be continued, soon...**

Thank you for reading and reviewing. Hope you enjoyed it so far, I love hearing from you!


	16. Before the Storm

A/N: Hey, I'm back - after a month's break. Bit longer than I planned, but life has been hectic and still is. Still, I want to move on to the second part, even if I can't promise the earlier crazy update schedule. One thing's for sure - there will be updates and the story will receive a proper conclusion, all in due time : )

On a side note - the fifth season of _Merlin_ has begun. It's nice to see the characters on the screen again, even though my story will be drastically different. I might use some additional information from season 5 about the land and history of Camelot and the Kingdoms around it.

Otherwise, I intend to keep the story spoiler-free, so it's still safe to read even if you haven't seen the new episodes : )

* * *

PART II

.

**Before the Storm**

. . .

Merlin fidgets in the council room, standing between the relatively calm Sir Leon and ever stoic Gaius. Arthur is discussing the sentence for a petty crime, committed by a former craftsman who was maimed during an assault on Camelot. Without his skills the man found a new occupation as a thief, disguised as a blind beggar, and was recently caught pinching a bracelet from one of his donators. The evidence is conclusive, it's useless to deny it. The man kneels, pleading for his life, unaware that the King has no particular preference for the rich over the poor. The Queen's presence at the room only adds to his chances.

Ever since Gwen's coronation, the royal couple has brought Camelot's laws have under revision, reinforcing their stance against serfdom and all other forms of oppression. Without the constant threat of invasion, the two have been able to fully commit to the affairs of state, incorporating new territories after the demise of Odin's bloodline. All in all, the people have enjoyed a prosperous summer, predictions of good crop from the harvest, increased trading and promise of long peace ahead, they are all but eager to forget the horrors of the past.

Merlin wishes it was that simple. But things never are. _Especially when it comes to Morgana._

It's been long since anyone saw or heard of her. Two and a half months since they stood together at the conquered castle. Eight long weeks since the meeting with the Druids which she unceremoniously interrupted with her own demands, bringing up old grievances from Uther's time to tilt the scales. (In the end, nearly ruining the treaty.)

Merlin shakes his head, remembering their exchange in the woods after all was over._ You just can't bear to be left out, can you? Why do you have to turn everything into confrontation? - And what's your solution, to cower and p__retend? At least I'm standing up for the good of my kind. - As am I. - Well, you certainly fooled me... Or did you miss your chance speak up?_

_Merlin glowered, feeling his jaw clench. Morgana's clever grin only grew wider._

_No worries, we can still fix that,__ she said, taking a step towards Arthur's tent. Merlin grabbed her arm, fixing her with stony glare. For a split second, her eyes flashed gold, almost like a dare. Slowly, calmly, Merlin let go of her arm. For all that was at stake she was still playing her games. He never knew she cared much about the druids - she'd never included them in her plans, nor would they have joined her cause against Arthur. The show was all for him. To get to him, not Arthur._

_At length, Morgana pulled away and sauntered off to the woods, the soft rustle of grass under her brisk strides. __Merlin tore his eyes away from her hips,_ resisting the urge to follow and continue their argument, aware of the fact that she could reveal his magic to Arthur anytime_ she pleased._

_That there is nothing he can do about it._

So why hasn't she?

"Merlin?" Arthur's voice interrupts his reveries. "Are you getting this?"

Merlin looks around guiltily. The hearing is over, with a sentence far milder than Uther would ever imagined. All limbs and fingers intact, the man is taken back to his cell. Guinevere places her hand on Arthur's in a silent gesture of support, distracting him for a moment, allowing Leon to whisper the decision for Merlin to scribble down.

"I swear, Merlin, your attention span is getting worse by the day. I'm really beginning to think you miss the exercise," Arthur quips later, he himself preferring his time on the training field to the ever increasing council meetings.

Leon smiles knowingly as Merlin's face falls, for even as the days of cleaning the stables and polishing armour are over, Arthur has become increasingly adept at shoving him the most boring and time-consuming tasks imaginable.

* * *

Fortunately, the earlier remark turns out to be a joke and Merlin uses the afternoon off to visit his old mentor, hoping it will bring him some clarity. Now that he's not needing it anymore the back room has been refitted for patients, the cupboards filled with supplies. The rest, however, looks every bit as it used to. Even the cooking potions smell as rank as he remembers.

"Is everything alright?" Gaius studies him as if he were some rare insect from behind his oval glasses.

Merlin nods distractedly, nudging some vials so that they come together with a clink. The pinkish liquid shakes a little, then stills. The physician looks unconvinced.

He has to tell him. It might be selfish to do that now, but he has to tell someone... or risk to lose his sanity.

"No."

The older man takes off his spectacles and joins him on the bench. "Are you disappointed Arthur has no time for you anymore? It will take some time, Merlin. The pair has barely had a moment together with all that invasion and a whole new realm on their shoulders."

"It's not that. I'm not upset about Arthur and Gwen. They deserve their time alone - I do know what that's like."

"What is it then?"

"I'm just... I expected that with Agravaine and Odin gone, that things would change... that magic would finally return to this realm."

"And it has. The persecutions have stopped. For the first time in decades Druids can lead their lives without fear."

"But what about the rest? I tried to talk to Arthur and Gwen about it, on many occasions... it's like he accepts magic but only if it remains unseen. Treats it like it's some incurable disease that some of us carry, a constant threat, not a means for good. I don't know how I could convince him otherwise."

"All changes take time. He's already come a long way. What you just talked about is your life's work. Patience is the key to everything..."

"I wish you'd explain that to Morgana."

"Why? Is she causing trouble?"

Silence.

"Merlin, what is it you're not telling me?" the physician enquires, his pitch rising.

Merlin gulps, taking a long breath.

"She knows."

* * *

For a long moment, the room is completely still.

"What?" Gaius manages, exasperated. More out of disbelief than outrage.

Merlin sighs, shaking his head.

"I don't know how, but suddenly, she knew I was Emrys. It happened months ago, when Arthur was ambushed and I was gone for days... That's when everything changed."

Gaius sits down again, mouth slightly parted. Eyes fixed on Merlin, he's taking it all in. The true reasons behind the truce.

"My dear boy.. Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, overcoming the shock.

"I didn't want to trouble you. There's nothing to be done about it. Besides, we reached some sort of an arrangement, and she did save us in the end," Merlin explains vaguely, luckily without blushing. "She won't attack, now that she's aware of my powers."

His mentor nods, slightly relieved.

"But your secret... is it safe?"

Merlin shrugs, without an answer.

"I see. Have you considered telling him yourself? Then she'd have no power over you..."

"I must make Arthur accept magic before he can know. I can't risk Albion's future, Gaius... not when we've come so far, when there's still so much to do."

Gaius lets his hands drop in his lap.

"Have you tried to explain it to her?"

"If you only knew," Merlin chuckles, humourless. "Sometimes, she's even more stubborn than Uther."

"Yet, she's kept silent... so far."

Merlin nods, dimly. Yet it's a small consolation. She's outplayed him. That's for sure. Camelot is no longer her enemy, not unless she attacks first. She's got no one to fear, nothing to lose, no allies, no loyalties to bind her but her own sacred cause. Other than their mutual pull, there's nothing really to bargain with... Nothing he can do about this. Or her, for that matter.

"You don't seem too relieved," the older man remarks.

"What? No. Yes. No, I mean - we should know better by now than to trust her absences... She's still out there somewhere. Waiting. And I have no idea why. I tried to find her, but her hovel has been abandoned, it's like she's cast a vanishing spell."

"Perhaps you're just paranoid. She's gone and left you alone. I'd see that as a good sign."

"Yeah," Merlin nods, but the knot in his stomach only gets tighter.

* * *

A few days later Merlin finally takes that path out of Camelot, his heart heavy yet his feet eager as they take him to the hilltop. Staring over the woods into the clear night skies, he bellows out the beasts name.

He's been dreading this talk for a reason. Kilgharrah has always disapproved of Morgana, regardless of her allegiance, so it's unlikely to change now. Unfortunately he has no other choice. But neither does the Dragon.

And, sure enough, the old beast glides lazily into the view, settling on nearby rocky slope. There's something secretive about the scaly friend tonight, and Merlin has long since learned that such moods never work in his favour.

"Been a while," Merlin begins, careful at first.

The Dragon observes him with relative calm. Perhaps Aithusa's part in their rescue hasn't reached his ears after all...

"Are we here again to talk about the Witch?"

Merlin perks up.

"How did you know?"

"Isn't that the only thing we talk about these days," Kilgharrah mocks, drily.

"So... do you know where she is?"

"You'd do well to stay away from her. She's stubborn and cruel. Don't be fooled by her allegiance, she'll only help you if it serves herself."

Merlin smiles, amused.

"Reminds me of someone I knew..."

Jets of sulphur steam bursting through the Dragon's nostrils, hot enough to scald. For a moment Merlin thinks he'll roast him on the spot.

"I did not come here to be insulted." Kilgharrah growls, leaning closer.

"You've always been against her, right off the start..." Merlin continues, still. "Why do you dislike her so much?"

"She's destined for destruction... Have I not warned you? I'll say that again - she _will_ drive a ledge between our kind."

"What if you're wrong?" Merlin continues. "What if.. there's a chance to set things right. Make peace with all those with magic."

Kilgharra chuckles darkly. "Thanks to you, young warlock, there'll be no more peace for any of us..."

"What do you mean?" Merlin shouts back, as the beast flaps its wide wings and takes off.

Circling twice over his head, the Dragon appears almost gleeful.

"You'll know soon enough."

* * *

**A/N: A brief introduction,**** setting up the new story arc. It will have some what different dynamic, some new character interactions, but - I'd like to hope - with all the earlier tension intact : D**

Are you excited about the next chapter? Thanks for following again! Drop me a line and I'll try my best to update soon : )


	17. Before the King

A/N: I really have no time to write at all, but it will keep trying. It will just take longer. In the meantime, a nice and long update.

* * *

.

**Before the King**

. . .

The autumn rolls closer, the edges of leaves are turning gold, the third month of peace ends, and still... no sign of Morgana. Merlin has been keeping a lookout, interrogating scouts and travellers from faraway lands to no avail. There's nothing to suggest an impending invasion, no secret army in the making. Any strong and unusual sorcery, and he would have felt it.

Merlin slumps down at the standing stones, his back against the cold rock, and thinks.

_If there is no evil scheme at work, no plan to overthrow Arthur, why on earth would she be avoiding him?_

Talking to Kilgharra was as confusing as it was useless. Perhaps for a reason. In fact, Merlin has a good mind to command him back, abuse his powers a bit further to unveil the truth behind his message.

Then again, pissing off a giant fire-breathing magical creature never bode well for Camelot. And while Arthur may have a whole court, he must make do with what little help he has. _However unpredictable_. S_tubborn. And... _The list could go on and on._ - But then again, who had it perfect?_

Merlin sighs, closing his eyes. Taking a deep breath he lets the magic of the stones pump through his veins, mingling with his own. The stones store magic enegry like a logbook, a memory of things passed. Warlocks and wizards, sorceresses and priest, far away or long gone, still resonate in these stones. There's traces of Morgana, too, younger and less scarred, drawn to the stones as a child, like any other magical being, unaware of it's significance.

_Knowing changes everything. _But rarely for the better.

Merlin has avoided this place for a reason. It fills him with a strange longing, sometimes sadness, and fear that in not so distant future he will be the only one to come here, fear of being the only one left. Last of his kind, in every possible sense. Just like Morgana.

He can't help but feel disappointed, somehow. The spring has turned into autumn with no word nor progress on the matter. It's like she's discarded Camelot - left it behind for something else, something more important than the grand obsession of the past few years.

Merlin has considered it. It is, of course, possible. Yet highly unlikely.

* * *

Returning to from his solitary walk, Merlin witnesses a strange procession across the green fields, headed straight for the castle.

Arriving at the city gates are robed figures, pilgrims perhaps - yet another test to the limits of the newly proclaimed tolerance. With no soldiers, no weaponry at display, the company appears unarmed to the mortal eye. Between a dozen long-robed men and women, a cloaked figure rides in the middle, shielded from the sun and prying eyes by a long embroidered robe. The priests are wearing indigo blue, the rest in faded crimson and gray.

Picking up the speed, Merlin follows the strange procession, all the way through the streets to the citadel. He can't hear what is said to the guards, but the procession continues, all the way to the courtyard.

Along with knights and castle servants, a significant amount of city folk has gathered at the square to witness the King's reception of these strange visitors. Merlin struggles to make his way through the crowd, barely in time to join Arthur, as he descends the wide stone stairs.

The leader of the procession steps forward and head slighly bowed. The rider in the middle remains still, and does not dismount.

Arthur looks over the crowd, then the newcomers, brow crumpled with some foreboding.

"State your name and your business in Camelot."

"My Lord. We come from the southernmost borders of your Kingdom and have a long and weary path behind us. We have been informed you seek to amend your father's crimes and offer shelter to all those faithful to the Old Gods."

"I don't recall saying these particular words... Who gave you this information? And what is so light-fearing you need to hide behind your veil?"

"Only your manners, my dear brother," the rider says in woman's voice and dismounts.

Merlin gapes as she takes a step forward. The crowd awakens into a loud murmur.

"Is this a way to greet your family?" Morgana smirks, removing her hood. The embellished robe glints gold and green in the sunlight, her ebony hair falling loose over her pale shoulders.

Arthur stands very still for a moment, unable to say a word.

"Is this some kind of a joke?"

"If burnt down temple and its surrounding village makes you laugh, then yes. We are a joke to you. These people are healers and holy men, they need rest and shelter. Is Camelot not open for everyone?"

"Since when do you need help taking care of your own?"

"Since you degreed them defenceless. It's your laws that forbid them from protecting themselves. Or do you deny that?"

Arthur sighs, looking past her, to his knights, all the way to Merlin - eyes cast and mouth pressed shut. The courtyard is holding its breath in suspense.

In this silence the King extends his welcome.

"Your company can settle in the lower town. No harm will come to them during their stay," Arthur utters finally, then gestures for the castle.

Her expression unreadable, Morgana nods, lightly.

The knights follow them into the halls.

* * *

Merlin watches the council gather with mixed feelings. As an envoy of the people of Old Religion, Morgana is granted an immunity, something she could easily abuse or turn to her advantage. Not to mention the load of secrets she's holding above his head, and this time, he's got nothing to meet her with.

Nothing but hope, and blind faith.

Sir Leon is waiting there, as is Percival and Sir Gareth. Sir Elyan and the rest of the knights are accompaning the Queen to her father's grave. Such inconvenient timing. _Or quite the opposite? Could Morgana have planned this, too? _

Standing by the wall, Merlin glimpses outside the window. After the spectacle she just gave them, the crowd is slow to disperse. No doubt that outside the castle, the news is spreading like wild fire.

_There will be no peace for any of us. - _Unbidden, Kilgharrah's warnings jump back to his mind. There's no evidence to suggest any ill intent. But even if her intentions are honourable, they still don't make much sense. Why would she seek out Arthur?

_And where has she been all these months?_

Slowing down to meet him, Sir Gwaine nudges him softly at his shoulder.

"Any idea what this is about? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm sure she's flesh and blood," Merlin evades with a fake smile. Then assumes his usual place at Arthur's right side.

The rest of the knights stand guard, and Morgana is offered a seat opposite from them. The stares that land on her from all across the room are far from benevolent. A little more than a year ago, she wreaked havoc on the whole kingdom. It takes more than one battle to erase their suspicions.

.

The story Morgana offers sounds credible enough. Names, places, everything adds up. Not to mention the two dozen villagers - good, common people, who have been through such hardship, yet decided to remain at her side.

Arthur nods, yet something keeps bugging him.

"I still don't understand, who would attack you? I've made peace with all remaing vassals of Odin, the disputes have been settled. Why risk an attack on a Kingdom for a few relics? What could they hope to gain?"

"Perhaps it is no risk at all. Everyone knows you've been no friend to magic."

The air goes colder in the room. Merlin shifts awkwardly, as the two siblings stare each other down.

"There are other ways than magic, safer ways to ensure the well-being..." Arthur mutters, slowly. His father's death still aches.

"Then why are my people being attacked? Their sacred halls plundered?" Morgana interrupts, fuming. "You turning a blind eye is not peace. It's convenience. Uther may have been ruthless, but at least he didn't try to deny it."

"So you're saying _I_ am the one to blame? After what I've done lately..."

"Given how you and Uther have taken from me, what you've taken from us - it's far from enough."

"I didn't push you away," Arthur growls, revisiting an old wound. "You made your choice, Morgana."

If it moves her, she's determined not show it. Her posture only grows more rigid.

"And now it's time to make yours," she says, eyes cold as they flicker to Merlin, then back to Arthur.

The room is silent, the King folds his hands, unwilling to give a definitive answer.

"I will discuss this matter with my Queen... She'll be back for the feast."

* * *

"Repeat that again?" Guinevere tugs off her coat, sprinkled with dust from the long road. "You invited Morgana - your illegitimate sister, who betrayed your father, repeatedly tried to kill you, and successfully overthrew you - for a feast?"

"It's not like that..." Arthur scratches his head, looking towards Merlin, starts gathering up papers on Arthur's table, slowly enough to catch the end of this conversation. "She came here as a fugitive, a representative of the Old Religion. There's not many others left, none willing to come forward anyway..."

Merlin drops a few scrolls. Arthur rolls his eyes.

"Besides, she already saved me once before, when she could have left me to my fate. What sense would it make to try to kill me now?"

"True," Gwen sighs, "But it doesn't feel right, the way she arrived... It doesn't mean that she won't try and use you for her ends, whatever they might be."

"Surely we know her tricks by now. And with you by my side -" Arthur pulls his wife closer... "There's no chance in hell."

Merlin slips out the door, knowing his cue to leave. He takes the papers to his room, locks them safely away with the rest of the state secrets.

Arthur is right about one thing - Guinevere is smart, careful, and among the first when it came to seeing through Morgana's plans.

Whether to be reassured or even more worried by that fact, Merlin can't really decide. For whatever shrewd schemes Morgana might come up with, he feels better when she's here, under their noses, where he can still easily keep an eye on her. _Well, __both eyes. More like stare at her wherever she goes...__  
_

He also knows how Arthur must feel. He remembers their meeting in Odin's castle. The hope in his eyes. A part of him never accepted Having her here brings back many memories, good and bad and confusing. But nothing compares to the abyss of not knowing, mistaking each shadow for a threat.

No, better have her here. In Camelot.

* * *

The feast goes without further interruptions. Merlin eats but little and keeps his eyes on Morgana, and her two priests, standing not far behind her - heads clean shaven, their robes identical blue.

Her sudden reappearance has done surprisingly little to calm his nerves, simply replaced one mystery with another. For while her words of her time passed are few and without significance, her changed bearing tells another story.

Gone are the tattered black dresses and seductive reds. Her robes are strange and foreign, adorned with protective sigils. Whoever her companions are, they are treating her well. Reverently even. Throughout the dinner she won't touch the contents of her goblet, but eats with pleasure, Merlin observes. Pink lips matching the rose of her cheeks, she no longer looks ghostly frail, but glowing. Healthy. She looks... Beautiful.

As if sensing his scrutiny, Morgana's eyes snap up and right on him. Their glances lock. His puzzled stare meeting a secretive smile. Almost challenging. For a second they trap each other, unwilling to look away first. Gwaine turns to him, accidentally knocking his elbow. Merlin blinks. The moment passes.

At the same time, Arthur clears his throat, preparing to interrogate his guest.

"Tell me, Morgana, what is your connection to these people? Why follow you here... on such a long journey? I'm sure there were other, safer places to be."

"I'm their divine Mother. They see in me the incarnation of Goddess Morrigan. It's been long foretold, sayings of a priestess and the harbinger of change."

The King lets out a long sigh. He's never been interested in stories of Old Religion.

Merlin is listening intently, though, taking it all in - the proud smile on Morgana's lips, her two priests, solemnly devoted to their duty. Whatever this means, she does not take the lightly. _And neither should they._

"Change?" Guinevere inquires, continuing in Arthur's stead. "And what is this harbinger you are speaking about?"

Their guest straightens, chin held high. "The promised child, of course."

Arthur frowns, bemused. "A child?"

"Yes." Morgana regards them all intensely.

"The one I am bearing."

* * *

**A/N: You can count on Morgana making a grand entrance... and yeah, what a bomb to drop. Next up, some of Morgana's POV ; )**

Her reception in Camelot it might be somewhat less adverse, but it's important to remember that the story diverged starting from episode 4.06, thus things like the bracelet affair, second reign, and Gwen turned into a doe never happened.

Also, Arthur doesn't have Excalibur yet. (I assume he still stumbled on that dead druid's shrine, since it was independent from the rest of the events.)

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Lots of fun scenes coming up. Feedback is lovely : )


	18. Before the Fall

A/N: I'd like to thank you all for the nice feedback last time! I'm sorry to have kept you waiting again. Seriously the busiest period in my life... Hope I'll find more time soon. Until then, I'll make up for it with longer chapters : )

* * *

.

**Before the Fall**

. . .

A pitcher clatters onto the floor, piercing the silence that has fallen over the hall. Unable to hold his tableware, let alone apologise, Merlin blinks at her from across the table, an open-mouthed question dead on his lips.

Morgana sneaks a sly glance in his direction to see Merlin grow paler than a sheet of parchment._  
_

_'No, don't faint_,' she mocks him, worldlessly. '_What would your King say?' _

Blood slowly returning to his face, the warlock recovers somewhat and manages to stay upright enough to watch the rest of the scene play itself out.

Morgana returns her focus to end of the table, the reason why Merlin's behaviour went so unnoticed. Guinevere's expression alternates between shock and concern, while the King's face has contorted into an odd grimace, like trying to work out some impossible equation.

"You're what?" Arthur demands with some perceivable difficulty.

Spellbound, the whole room is holding their breath.

"I'm with child," Morgana repeats, calmly, and, to reinforce her point, stands up from the table, allowing all eyes drift to her midsection: the outward curve of her belly, hidden under her draping robes, suddenly very obvious.

A chorus of murmurs erupts in the hall, resonating within the walls like a swarm locusts.

Ignoring the incredulous stares, Morgana grins at the small mayhem she has managed to invoke.

_How easy it is to disrupt a gathering, the thin veil of courtly etiquette, all the 'My Ladies' and 'Sires' and 'yes, My Lords'... _Years ago their scrutiny would have unnerved her, made her vie for their approval, yet now, she only revels in their dismay.

Despite the disorder, Arthur is yet to say a word.

The defiant glare she shoots at her brother remains unchallenged. If anything, he seems to retreat further into his own mind.

More moments pass and nothing happens. The murmur carries on. The knights remain confused, and Merlin is stays frozen in his seat, leaving the Queen to diffuse the situation.

He can't catch a word of it, but whatever Gwen is whispering in his ear seems to be working: something different glints in his eyes.

"That's enough," Arthur stands, and in the shocked silence, declares the feast ended.

* * *

There's a small commotion as the guests are rapidly leaving the hall. Her priests are sent out, escorted by several knights, and Morgana uses the moment's distraction to linger behind, hoping to overhear some of what is being said in the council room. Arthur can be hot-headed, Morgana knows that, but so does Gwen, some time to consider could save many a rash decision...

Sliding into her hiding place between the hallway and the iron crate, she settles into her favourite spying spot. Behind the wall, she can hear Arthur's low rumble, then again interrupted by Gwen's soothing voice.

Unable to make out words from sounds, Morgana tires to pry through the gap. Suddenly, a hand tugs at her arm, drawing her deeper into the niche.

Her eyes flicker golden for a second, before she glimpses the face of the offender.

"What do you want?" she demands, giving a strong shove to free herself. Firm and steady, Merlin's grip is different somehow, as if she's suddenly made of something brittle.

"Exactly my question," he reprimands, gazing down at her with suspicion. "What are you playing at?"

"Is that what you think?" Morgana laughs, humourless, drawing even closer. "The time for games is over."

The warlock loosens his hold, but won't pull away. "Then why all this?" he whispers hoarsely, eyes wandering aimlessly across her face and then away, unsure how to handle their first contact in months. Morgana folds her arms over her chest, right above her belly. Both their eyes get glued on the bump.

"This?"

Merlin's eyes climb back up.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"And why would it concern you?" she replies, haughily, watching the words hit him in the guts like a battering ram.

"You can't be serious..."

Using his moment of doubt, Morgana presses past him without bothering to reply.

Recovered from this cruel joke, Merlin is back to block her way.

"Don't act like I don't care. I was looking for you. All this time... not a word. It's like you vanished into thin air. What was I supposed to think?"

Morgana swallows, maintaing her icy composure. "What I do is my own business."

"So why come here? If you need help, just ask."

"I don't need anything. I'm here to give you one more chance."

This seems to confuse him, his eyes shaded with worry.

"A chance for what?"

"To do the right thing." Morgana states, staring back at him.

"What do you mean?" Merlin's mouth parts in confusion. His black hair forms a handsome contrast with his skin, his irises as blue as ever, but the tug of attraction does not soften her stance. It only makes her angrier.

"You've made yourself comfortable enough. The King's confidant, advisor, close friend... Has all that power made you forget who you are?"

"It hasn't. Belive me, Morgana, there's nothing I wish more than stop hiding, to end these lies... But I won't happen through war and conflict."

"And how do you plan to achieve that, keeping up this little masquerade? This is not about your petty ambitions anymore. There's a bigger picture at stake."

Then, the sound of guards in the hallway. Her absence must have been noticed.

"Last chance, Merlin."

Merlin looks back at her, eyes imploring, "Please, Morgana. It's too soon."

And to think she had hoped, once... Clenching her jaw, she shakes her arm free.

"No, it's already too late."

Ignoring the shouts behind her, she strides towards the entrance of the hall, ignoring the wave of disappointment that washes over her. Several knights join to follow her, effectively blocking her from Merlin's view.

* * *

"I can't believe this."

At the presence of his private council - Guinevere, Sir Leon, Gwaine and Merlin - Arthur's tongue has finally loosened up.

"I can see that. You never dealt well with the truth..." Morgana responds, unperturbed.

Goaded by her quip, Arthur fumes, veering close to their old arguments.

"Who's the father? Do I even know him?" he shouts angry, almost condescending. Morgana raises her chin in defiance.

"He's a powerful sorcerer."

All faces fall. Merlin groans. She's not going to make it easy on him.

"How...? No, _why_ would you do this? Have a child, out of wedlock?"

"I'm surprised to see you care so much about traditon. What with you marrying a servant and knighting commoners..."

"This is different."

"Yes, it is. I'm the High Priestess of the Old Religion. Our order is far older than your laws and persecution. I couldn't care less about your rules. The child is mine, and that's more than enough."

Arthur calms a bit, taking it all in. The consequences this birth entails. Regardless what feud may rage between them, the child will be his niece or nephew. Uther's grandchild. Of royal blood.

_The next heir, if he doesn't watch out._

Sitting down, he begins again, much calmer. "How do you plan to raise the child? Where will you go?"

"Our people will take care of their own..."

"You can't honestly plan to raise a child among these religious nuts."

Morgana frowns. "I can and I will. And before you say another word, explain to me what have you done to right the wrongs against my people? Do you have any idea what it's like to live in hiding, to be condescended, ashamed of who you are... I'd rather die than let this happen to my child."

Arthur falls silent. Gwen and Merlin are both staring at her... saying nothing._ Pity costs nothing in this world._

"I see now. You're nothing but your father's shadow. Always were." Morgana says, as she straightens and turns to go.

"I would never harm a child, Morgana, nor you, for that matter," he asserts, firmly. "You should know that."

A sad smile twists her mouth, as she casts a last look over the hall.

"I've known many things. Most of them were lies."

.

Two stairs down, past the statues, her anger starts to creep up on her. Knights and guards cautiously follow her wake, just in case she decides to blow up another tower on her way out.

_She can't say she's not tempted_. But she can't. Not now. There's another life at stake, one more important than hers, one she needs to keep safe.

Quickening her pace, she heads for the entrance, the layout of halls and corridors she knows so well. To think she once wanted to own this place...

She's seen enough today to know that Camelot will never change. Not as long as they keep denying the atrocities of Uther's rule. This will always be the centre of prejudice and fear, driving the people away, always there to judge and weaken her kind-

Just one last corner...

Something dark is falling over her eyes. Black dots of ink spatter over her field of vision, and she stops, abruptly, glancing around.

"Lady Morgana?" she hears behind her. The footsteps are getting closer, catching up, closing in on her. Standing still, Morgana leans against a pillar, breathing heavily. Her knees are weak, wobbly. Something's wrong... _Visions never affected her physically._ Another, more terrible suspicion kicks in. The feast..._ They wouldn't. Would they?_

Someone grabs her shoulders. Steel and red swim before her eyes.

"My Lady?" Sir Leon repeats, his voice distant, far away. Then, fading completely.

* * *

Gaius jumps up at his table as the knights barge into his chambers. Merlin leads the way, followed by Sir Leon and Gwaine, the latter carrying an unconscious body of the Lady Morgana herself.

"This way."

The old man shows the way to the back chamber now refitted for patients. It's the familiar and different at the same time. Without his messy presence, the place looks almost... decent. The only thing that remains is his old cot, refitted with a thicker mattress.

Having safely deposited the former ward, Gwaine leaves the room to find Arthur. Merlin stays, and so does Sir Leon, Holding an ear trumpet, Gaius leans down to listen to her heartbeat, then her breathing.

Behind her eyelids, her irises are unfocused. She's not faking it.

"Nothing serious, I believe," the old physician utters at last. "She's merely fainted."

No sooner than has said that, than Arthur barges in, Gwaine in tow, taking in the sight of his half-sister spread out on the sickbed, dark hair spread on the pillow framing her pale face. A shadow of shock and fear passes his face as he sits on the edge of her bed, bringing back memories he never wished to revisit.

"This is all my fault."

"Arthur, you know that's not true," Merlin objects.

"I should not have let her go, not in this state..."

"I assure you, it's nothing unusual. Fainting spells are quite common for women in the blessed state," Gaius comments calmly. "After all the emotional and physical exertion, and given the journey she's been on, some fatigue is only to be expected. However, I do advise against any further riding. Peace and good rest are paramount in her state.

Arthur straightens, jaw set. "She can stay in the palace. I'll have her room prepared."

"If she'll agree to this," Merlin points out, knowing she won't. Not without persuasion..._  
_

"She will, if she knows what's good for her. As the closest of her kin, I am responsible for her well-being."

Merlin bites on his lip, running out of justifications. It's him who's responsible. One way or the other. _S__hould just come out with it? Would they believe him without admitting that he's a __sorcerer? Would Morgana even allow it?_

"With all respect Sire," Gaius interrupts his internal struggle, "I'm sure this can all wait. My patient needs rest. It's best to wait until the morning."

"Of course," the Kings nods, standing up. "Look after her, Gaius. You will let me know when she wakes up?"

"Sire," the old man assures with a slight bow.

"She'll be in good hands," Merlin supplies. "I'll stay here, to be sure..."

"Thank you. Both of you I appreciate this..."

Arthur halts, and, with a long look at Morgana's sleeping form, reluctantly leaves the physician's chambers.

* * *

"Did you mean it?" Merlin asks when everyone has left. "That she'll be fine?"

"Would I lie to the King?" his mentor responds, quirking an eyebrow.

Merlin frowns._ Is Gaius being serious or is he trying to lighten up the mood?_

Either way, it's not working: the churning feeling of worry and guilt burrows deeper into his guts.

"She's safely past her first trimester, at the end of the fourth month, I far as I can guess. Her vital signs are healthy. Just a slight scare, nothing more."

A long breath escapes his lips, one he didn't know he was holding.

Underneath all the concern, another feeling emerges. Something new. And not at all unpleasant...

"So they're both fine and well?" He reaffirms with a small grin.

"In all likelihood yes," the physician agrees, heating up a dinner at the small fire. "I only wish we knew who the father is."

"Does it matter?" he asks, faking nonchalance. "It wouldn't change anything."

Stopping on his track, his mentor fixes him with a stern look.

"It changes a lot, Merlin. If it really is a person of powerful magic, who knows who she might carry. Such births are never a coincidence and were treated with caution, even in the old times. Combining such forces presents hidden dangers and not just for Camelot."

"What do you mean?" Merlin slumps on the nearby seat. Gaius continues, clueless of his distress.

"Magical pregnancies have a high mortality rate, especially for mothers. A child too powerful could conjure a spell, as early as in the womb. It's your peaceful nature alone that saved Hunith from miscarrying."

No longer able to take it, Merlin groans, burying his face in his hands.

"In that case..." the physician trails off, suddenly realizing what's happening before him. "What's wrong, Merlin? What are you not telling me?"

_Gaius has it figured out. _And yet, voicing it seems impossible.

"It wasn't you, was it... Merlin?"

The silence says it all.

It takes a while when his uncle speaks again -

"How. stupid. can. you. be?"

Merlin mumbles from behind his palms.

"Very."

* * *

**A/N: So much drama. The court scenes are such a pain to write, there's just too much going on. Hope to get the focus back on Merlin and Morgana dynamic, now that the ground has been prepared. Gaius finding out was quite inevitable, and yeah, I see another character getting a whiff of things... ; )****  
**

So yeah. Thank you for reading and, as always, I'm very interested in what you think :)


	19. Before the Dawn

A/N: Merlin's having a bit of an epiphany. If this is a redemption fic, it's just as much about Merlin as it is about Morgana. They both have some steps to make before it can work out. I hope I'll do them justice : )

* * *

.

**Before the Dawn**

. . .

Way past saving now, Merlin allows his hands to drop from his face. The old man is looking at him as if he wants to smack him and comfort him, shake some sense into him and walk away all at the same time. But as terrifying as it is, seeing his uncle in such a state, it is nothing compared to the wailing fear he had injected in his ward mere moments ago.

Gaius observes him silently, then sits down next to him. The hearth crackles gently in a room that is so silent. Merlin used to love evenings like this. Before all the secrets and lies and mistakes, one after the other. The promise of a brighter day, the dragon's call - a perfect bait to drag him on to the next day.

_One day it has to stop. One way or the other. And if he's lucky, he might even live to see it. _His guardian knowing is just another milestone. Another piece in the puzzle.

If only Gaius himself saw it this way. The man is too much of a scholar. He likes reasons. Demands clarity.

"How did this happen?" his uncle inquires.

Merlin stares blankly into the fire and mutters, voice dim.

"I think you know _how_."

Receiving not the answer he expected, Gaius perks up, annoyed.

"Don't get clever with me, young man. How could you manage this... _When_ did you have the time?"

"I saw her before the battle with Odin..." Merlin struggles, keeping it vague. The truth is, it's all too hazy for him as well. Was it the time in the hovel, after their fight in the woods? Or weeks later, during Arthur's wedding night? Either way, neither is a tale to tell his children and grandchildren... now that he has a reason to expect some. All dark-haired, and bright-eyed, all blessed with Morgana's spitfire temper. And both their powers combined,

Shuddering, he tries to imagine such a child, but the only image he gets is young Mordred, frightened little boy, doomed for destruction... Merlin swallows.

_This is definitely not helping._

Luckily, Gaius is still stuck on the original track. "So is that how you convinced her not to give you up, why she helped you? Or did she trick you to agree to this - ..." The man trails off, unable to find a proper way to describe such arrangement.

Merlin blushes, shaking his head at the implication. As if he'd ever agree to such a deal. Nor would she... Yet, why did they? Sneaking a glance at the door to the back chamber, he thinks, and tries to explain something he doesn't quite understand himself.

"There wasn't... any agreement. It just... became this sort of - thing between us." Merlin breathes, exasperated at how ridiculous it sounds. "I thought... we'd come to a breakthrough. I hoped... it could change things."

Gaius grunts.

"You've definitely managed that."

Merlin glowers back at the him, while the old man stands and proceeds to serve the stew, diving it into two equal portions. Neither says anything for a while.

Despite the wonderful smell, he has no mood to eat. If anything, he itches to go and check on Morgana, see if she's feeling better. Even if there's no reason to worry. It's natural. She's the mother of his child. And that means something... Morgana is right in one thing: whatever this is, it will be changing. This is very real.

"I'm surprised you haven't kicked me out, after this," Merlin mutters at length, staring at the warm plateful.

"And why would I do that?" Gaius mutters evenly, an eyebrow raised. "Besides you promised to the King you'd stay here."

"Still. You could've told him..." Merlin suggests, stirring the vegetables with his spoon.

The old man's mouth falls into an astonished grimace.

"What kind of insane idea is this?" His spoon hits the plate a little too loudly. "You may have fallen once too hard on your head, but it doesn't mean I've given up on you."

"I've thought about it myself," Merlin continues, distant, as if retelling a strange dream. "I know what it's like to grow up without a father. I can't deprive it from its mother... I have no intention of leaving them. I will be there. No matter what it takes."

Gaius drops his bread, growing more astonished by the second.

"What about Arthur? And your Destiny?"

Merlin shakes his head, his jaw set.

"It will have to wait. I can't let Morgana raise an enemy against Camelot. One I cannot fight..." He blinks back tears, smiling a little. "Perhaps our child will do what I couldn't. In time, I could heal the wounds, take care of Morgana, convince her to do good..."

"Or she could convince you, use you against Camelot."

Merlin shakes his head, pushing the plate away.

"You have plenty of reasons to doubt her, but deep inside, she's still the person we once knew... I've seen it, I felt her pain. Underneath all that hatred, she's just scared and alone, and desperate to survive."

The physician does not argue this time.

"I remember the time she was first brought here, on the day of Gorlois' burial," Gaius confesses. "There was that look of madness in her eyes... So young and broken, she lashed out at everyone, reckless of who. Uther's guilt alone made him put up with it all. But it was Arthur who got through to her, eventually. He kept luring her out to play knights, practicing swordplay, even letting her beat him, just to see hear her laugh..."

Merlin listens, surprised to learn the truth behind their famous banters.

"He never admitted to that."

Gaius chuckles.

"Beaten by a girl or the softness of his heart. Which one do you think he's more embarrassed about?"

Merlin chuckles in agreement. There's so much innocence in that age. Young Arthur and Morgana, running around the castle with wooden swords. Two flashes of hair, one blond, one dark. Brother and sister without their own knowing.

How far, how unreal it seems. Forgotten in time and circumstance. But not lost.

Exhaling loudly, Merlin gets up. "It's late. You should get some rest, Gaius."

"You're welcome to the bed behind the screen."

"There's no need," Merlin dismisses him, walking up towards the back chamber, where Morgana sleeps.

Gaius watches him, mortified. It takes a few seconds to realise why.

"No, I didn't, I mean..." his ward blushes furiously, covering his face with his palm.

"I meant, I'm not - I can stay with her, in case she wakes. I don't think I'd be able to sleep tonight, anyway."

"Do as you wish," the old man dismisses him with a wave of hand, and moves to lay down on his cot.

* * *

Creaking the door open a bit, Merlin can see that Morgana hasn't moved. Arms over the duvet, she resists the urge to turn, moving slightly as the light falls on her face and the door closes with a thud.

Eyes adjusting to the near complete darkness, Merlin locates a stub of candle amidst the wares, and lights it with a single spell. Golden glow floods the room, painting forms from shadows. Despite the changes, he can't see it as anything but his.

This room had always his sanctuary, the only place where he could be himself... The only place he could call his own. And now, she's here. Safe. Like it should be. _The way it could've been... had things turned out differently. _Merlin blinks, swallowing back his regrets.

The dark-haired beauty stirs, a deep frown marring her face, somehow aware of his presence. _Perhaps staring at her so intensely is not such a good idea._

Seated on the stacks linen, Merlin peers at her from the afar, filled with confusion and longing.

The healing bracelet glints on her wrist, bearing the last reminder of Morgause, the fallen Crest of Gorlois. It's a rare artefact - a better ward against night terrors than any draft they'd made. Yet there she is: turning in fits, mumbling in her sleep, again.

"_Swefe nu_," Merlin whispers, to restore her calm. Morgana grows quiet, yet keeps wrestling. Not a nightmare. A vision then.

The night draws on. The wick of the candle starts trembling, fading into pre-dawn dusk.

Whether it's his presence, or her dream cycle, her breathing grows deep again. And stays so. Merlin sits, alone with his thoughts, listening the arrhythmic tide and ebb of another's breath.

He knew something was up, when she disappeared from his sight, and now here she is, sleeping on his bed, sheltering a tiny life within her.

And while this turn of events can potentially upturn everything he's fought for, he cannot bring himself to wish it away, nor can he imagine another woman in her stead.

It's a shocking revelation, but part of him always knew. He just never accepted it, never hoped. Not until now.

.

At some point he must have dozed off, because he wakes up to Gaius shaking his shoulder, catching the book of herbs he'd been reading from plummeting to the floor.

"What time is it?" Merlin grunts, groggily, before a wizened hand lands on his mouth, then beckons him outside.

"It is almost dawn," the old man points out, once outside the chamber - and apparently, still in his night shirt.

"Oh." Merlin stared him dumbly. He hated waking before the first light. It seemed wrong, somehow. "That's not late."

"No. But I wanted to talk to you first. Before Morgana wakes up..."

Oh. Right. Right. Suddenly, Merlin is very much awake and very aware where this is headed.

His resolve has already weakened last night. It could hardly withstand another lecture.

"Gaius, don't... I meant it last night, and there's nothing I -"

Gaius's frown ends his protest. "I meant that I might be needing some things. I have some drafts prepared, some herbs to restore her health and relieve the usual complaints."

Somewhat relieved, Merlin nods eagerly. "What can I do?"

"You can start by bringing breakfast."

He didn't need to say that twice.

Half-way out the door, he hears his guardian call out, "Merlin?"

"Mmm?" he pokes his head back in.

"Don't decide, just yet." Gaius assures, wistfully. "There's plenty of ways to burn the bridges."

* * *

On his way out of the castle kitchens, Merlin nearly bumps into Gwaine.

Both men stare at each other in confusion: one empty-handed, the other armed with a small banquet on a platter. It is the knight that speaks first. His speech is slow, still sobering from last night.

"I got hungry. I thought there must be some steak left over from the feast."

"Yeah," Merlin agrees rigorously, trying to balance the assortment of food while keeping it away from Gwaine's greedy fingers. The task proves increasingly difficult.

"No reason to be greedy," Gwaine berates through a piece of apple tart. Merlin sighs obligingly, lowering the plate.

"It's not my breakfast... It's for Morgana."

They both stare at the heap on the plate, enough to feed an army of orphans.

"I... erm... didn't know what she'd like," Merlin clarifies, scratching the back of his head. "Especially now, that she's... you know..."

Gwaine smiles grows wider, and he licks his thumb. Then, pretends to look offended.

"I'm a fool Merlin. Are you?"

Merlin looks up, puzzled.

"Why, what did I do?"

"That's what I've been wondering since yesterday..." Gwaine muses, closing in on him, as if on an unsuspecting prey. "Ever since the Lady Morgana showed up you've only stammered and stared."

"I'm just as shocked as anyone," he counters, his voice forcibly light.

"Worse than. You nearly fainted on me."

Merlin feels his heart race. _No. Stop sweating. Breathe... Just breathe._

"Uhm, that happens a lot. Gaius says it's because in my childhood..."

Gwaine pulls at the plate, a movement sharp enough to end his little speech right there. A pair of brown eyes fix him with a stare he would not want to challenge.

"Cut the act, Merlin. It's plain to see. You have feelings for her."

Merlin nearly drops plate. Gwaine holds it up, as a surprised smile spreads over his face.

"It is true, then?"

Merlin is too speechless to deny it, nor does his frightened look help smoothe the matters in any way.

"I had been dying to know for sure." The knight chuckles victoriously and plucks another piece of cake from the platter. "You seem far too innocent for that. And I admit, I had my doubts. But they way you looked at her, it made me think... And after all - you're just a man like the rest of us."

"Great," Merlin sighs, failing to be amused. "Who else knows?"

His friend pats his back, encouragingly. The smell of stale mead fills the air. _Is Gwaine still sober or not? Not that he could tell the difference..._

"Don't worry. I believe so far I'm the only one that noticed this. And I promise not to tell anyone... As long as you answer my questions."

Merlin is silent for a while, looking for a way out. The long windows sit deep in the thick walls. The room is dim in the first light of dawn. The servants won't be up for another hour.

He sits down, bringing the plate with him. "Okay, but there are limits."

"Such as?" The amused twinkle in the knight's eyes is positively unsettling. _Right, boundaries._

"Nothing that concerns her. Not what we did, or how or when," he clarifies. "I owe her that much, with the child on the way.

Gwaine's grin drops, as the realisation hits him. Merlin gapes back, realising his mistake. Where is the wall when you need to hit your head on it?

He didn't know.

"Wait.. what?" his friend demands.

Merlin moans inwardly. Gaius is going to kill him.

.

"Still waters run deep." Gwaine muses, biting into a cold piece of lamb. "And I though of you as the hopeless romantic."

"You were right about the hopeless part," Merlin sighs. If he'd just kept his mouth shut, Gwaine would still see it as a harmless crush. Now he has to wiggle out of it without revealing the last of his secrets.

"I still don't understand how you managed to woo her. Or did she enchant you? Few could resist her spells, I've heard."

Discussing the exploits with women over a pitcher of ale never had any appeal to him, and he never took part in it. Excluding some jokes if the knights got too drunk and merry and he was an easy target... The point being, he is in no way prepared for this interrogation, nor does he know how to end this.

Merlin closes his eyes, shaking his head. "It wasn't like that."_  
_

Gwaine falls silent, observing Merlin's misery. He's way past pretending now.

"Do you love her?"

Merlin's eyes pop open, bewildered. "What kind of question is that?"

"A good one. I never seen you hit on any of the tavern wenches or ever brag about a tumble in the hay. It's not like you to fool around. You love her, don't you?"

"I think... I do," Merlin admits aloud for the first time. It is true, though. Even if wasn't always clear. There was always a sense of kinship, later the guilt that drove him to help her. But that's not what kept him coming back, unable to let go.

He thinks back of their first battle in the clearing, trying to convince himself he could do it, provoke her or convince her to give up, because... The was no other way to finish it. _How far they'd come since then. And not so far at all._

Burdened by their past, Merlin swallows, and adds quietly. "Anyway, she does not feel the same."

"I wouldn't be so sure about this. She could've flayed you alive, turned you into a frog or something worse, yet she chose target your virtue instead," Gwaine grins. "He saved you neck, not to mention Arthur's, turned the course of war to our favour... And now she came all the way here, the heart of the Kingdom, just to deliver you the news."

_Or get him to out himself, turn against Camelot..._

Merlin's face falls, growing very sombre. "It's not that simple."

"It never was." Gwaine agrees, serious again. "Are you going to tell Arthur?"

"No," Merlin responds immediately, shuddering at the thought. "At least not yet. He'd chop off my head, if he knew."

"I wouldn't be worried about your head," Gwaine winks, hinting at his man parts.

Merlin curls up instinctively, too close to it becoming reality to fully appreciate the humour.

"Relax mate, your secret is safe with me." The knight stands up and ruffles Merlin's hair.

Reaching into his pocket, he poises an apple in place of the stolen cakes on the plate.

Merlin stares at the green novelty. Gwaine laughs.

"Go on then. Don't keep your lady waiting."

* * *

**A/N: I like Gwaine knowing. It should have happened in the show. It's ridiculous how much Merlin gets away with all the time. Plus, given where we're headed, someone knowing might be useful...****  
**

Next up: Merlin and Morgana interaction. Some more of Morgana's POV. Hope you liked the update, thank you for reading and commenting!

Enjoy the upcoming Merlin finale and have a wonderful holidays ahead! : )


	20. Before the Rest

A/N: Another faster update for a change. A little something to help you recover after the finale tonight : )

* * *

.

**Before the Rest**

. . .

Morgana opens her eyes to the first sunrays filtering through a dusty window, spreading across the floorboards to the bed she is sleeping in. A pleasant lethargy fills in her ankles and toes as she stretches between the fresh white linen. They feel rough, compared to the silk she was treated to in the temple, but the coarseness of the fabric is neither unpleasant nor unused to. In fact, the whole place seems familiar, the smell of herbs strangely soothing. So much like home.

_Wait. What?_

Propping herself up on an elbow, Morgana turns to look around. The chamber is small -not as much empty as unused. Pots and vials and dried plants line the shelves, piles of white linen crowd the corners. And though the cot she slept in is modest in size, she's just had the best sleep in months...

Being on the road for weeks at a time, she's hardly perturbed by waking up to an unknown place - that is, until her eyes land on a brown jacket, laying crumpled in the corner. Right underneath some manuscript. Light brown and unmistakably... _Merlin's_.

Shooting up on the bed, all pieces suddenly clank together in Morgana's head like a giant jigsaw puzzle. She's in Merlin's room! _- __Or, what used to be his room, judging by the changes and the sudden spirit of cleanliness._

A wave of panic washes over her, even as she begins to grasp the situation: a swift glance around her confirms she's only wearing her shift, her ceremonial robes neatly folded on the back of a chair. Her shoes are right beside them, their noses pointed expectantly towards her.

Then, it all comes back to her.

She'd arrived at the castle, just as planned, delivered the news, defied the King, endured the pettiness of the court, Merlin's futile protests. That much was expected. What was not, however, was her ending up here, in Camelot, in _his_ room, with no further memory after the spell of dizziness on her way out.

Moaning over her foiled scheme, Morgana contemplates her remaining options. Her presence has been undermined, she's been made to seem weak. Her followers left outside, unable to tend to her. And as always, Arthur is crowned the hero.

Fists clenched in frustration, Morgana stifles a groan. Black spots swim in front of her eyes. She should have headed the warnings of her healer woman, but she was up for a show, and she could have hardly teleported a whole host of refugees.

Not to mention the mayhem it would have unleashed had she materialised in Camelot from thin air.

Morgana smirks a little, picturing it in her mind. The screaming of the townsfolk, the guards trembling. _The__ superstitious bunch of fools_.

* * *

Taking a deep breath, Morgana tries to come up with a new plan. She might yet make it out of here. _It's still early, barely past dawn. Would anyone notice if-... Too late._

Behind the door: voices.

One of them is that of Gaius, and the other, softer and deeper one, belonging to his nephew. There's a question and a retort, the muffled signs of a heated discussion. The old man's voice raises an octave. Merlin rumbles back in protest.

Curious to a fault and tired of eavesdropping, Morgana makes a sound - hitting a metal pitcher on the night stand - and waits.

The door opens.

It's Merlin, stumbling in back first, balancing something heavy on one hand. With a dramatic bow he presents a veiled object. She's adamant not to indulge him and his antics, yet can't help the raise of her eyebrows, when he removes the covering cloth.

"What's this?" she stares at the assortment of food.

"Physician's orders," Merlin winks cheekily and sets the tray on the small table. "Gaius says you should eat first, regain your strength."

Morgana glowers at him, incredulous. As if arguments as their's could be solved by small favours. _It's like those flowers in her room all over again._

"I meant - what am I doing in your room?"

"Oh." He drops the act, serious again. "You fainted in the hallway. And, it is no longer my room -..." He hesitates, rubbing his head. "We would have moved you to your old chambers, but Gaius insisted we let you rest until the morning."

"I see," Morgana replies, her eyes darting to the platter on the left. All desserts and delights and an odd bright green apple poised in the middle. It's too much for one person, even with her ravenous appetite of late. She refrains from reaching out to touch any of it, mostly because his eyes are on her, all too expectant. Eager to please. _Well, who's hungry now?_

She opts for a small grape, just to tease. Merlin's eyes follow her hand to the arch of her lips, and stay there, darting over her cheeks, to her eyes and back to her mouth.

"Does that happen a lot?" he asks, sitting on the edge of her bed. "You passing out?"

"Not really," she shrugs and ignores his look. His gaze is heavy, starving - she can feel it's weight through her lids, sinking into her skin. Suddenly, the four months seem awfully long.

She's been so conflicted by her new condition that she forgot what got them into this mess in the first place_. _Alone in his proximity, her treacherous pulse takes a skip towards something faster._  
_

His pair of blues study her, almost shyly, yet with an odd insistence that wasn't there before. It's unnerving, how his jaw set as he looks up, decisive and strong.

"You should not go. Arthur wishes you to stay here, for your own sake and the baby's."

"I'm sure he does," Morgana remarks dryly, wiping her fingers in the cloth. "Did you put him up to this?"

Merlin shakes his head. "He's worried about you." Then, reaching across the duvet, he repeats, "We all are."

She wants to pull away, but Merlin is not really holding her, their hands barely touching. Looking down, she stares at them, pale and long, and remarkably similar. Morgana purses her lips, unsure how to take this.

Despite all the things they've been done - kissed and lied, hurt and fought, and tried to kill each other, they even conceived a child together - but this form of intimacy is new, unexplored. The simple tenderness sends a shiver through her spine, her body trembling.

For a second, she is utterly petrified, but unable to pull away.

"Morgana..." Sensing a breakthrough, Merlin clasps her fingers between his, wrapping them together in a quiet plea. "You shouldn't be doing this alone."

Morgana grins in denial, looking away from the fire in his eyes. "I have all I need, my followers are right behind the gates. Devoted and true."

"Fugitives, lost souls like yourself."

"Who better?" she bites back, bitterness giving way to hurt from old betrayals._  
_

Merlin licks his lips.

"Me."

"You?" Morgana laughs, feebly. "No. You only serve Arthur, follow him blindly, regardless of how he acts or what he decides." She removes her hand, adamant. "You'll always place him first, above anyone else, even your own kind. You've done so before, over and over..."

"Not this time."

Morgana falls silent. Merlin continues in earnest, "I will be here for you. By _your_ side."

"What about Arthur? Your loyalty to him?"

Merlin hesitates, but his words come out clear.

"He will be on our side, too."

Hope dies in Morgana's eyes, but he clings on to it all the same, "I will bring him around, he will learn the truth. We won't have to hide any longer. Our child will be accepted, he will lead a full life. One without war and betrayal... Nothing like ours. Just give me time. Four months. That's all I ask."

"And what if you fail?" she demands, still. "What if you're wrong?"

The question hangs between them like a sharpened blade. Ready to fall.

Merlin blinks, swallowing hard._  
_

"Then I will join you," he vows through the unshed tears, his gaze steady. "I will leave Camelot and go with you."

* * *

Arthur strides into his chambers. Guinevere is writing at the desk, unprepared for the smacking kiss on her cheek - quite the opposite she'd expected after their talk this morning...

"Arthur?" she follows his movement, lowering the quill. "Did you go and talk to Morgana?"

"Yes."

Arthur faces her, all blue eyes and boyish charm, while his wife has never appeared more confused.

"And?"

"She said yes to all our demands. We have a real truce at last." He waits for Gwen's approval, but his enthusiasm is only met by her frightened disbelief.

"But how... Just yesterday she was hell-bent to bringing you down. No matter the consequences."

"That was yesterday. She's had time to reconsider, as did I. We both need to find a way to end our quarrel and be what we were always meant to be. A family."

Guinevere grants him a cautious smile. The hope in his eyes is positively heartbreaking. It just the kind of trap he never fails to fall into.

"And how do you plan to achieve that?"

"With time and patience. I convinced Morgana to stay in Camelot."

No longer able to suppress her alarm, Gwen stands and moves over to him. Her slender fingers rest on his shoulders, feeling the tensions in the muscles underneath.

"Arthur, think this through. Are you sure this is a good idea? We might overlook her misdeeds, the rest of your Kingdom is not going to be so forthcoming."

"Probably not," Arthur admits, deflating a bit. "But she's still my blood. And so is the child she's carrying. You said it yourself."

"Yes, but... having her here, it's different. It will change things - but it will never be the way it was."

The King takes a deep breath. "I can't let her go, Gwen... Not this time."

He holds her gaze, imploring, slowly melting her resolve.

"This might be my only chance to get her back, and if I don't take it I may regret it for the rest of my life."

"I know." Gwen relents, a crease of worry forming between her brows. "So, let's hope we won't."

* * *

**A/N: So, are you liking the development? It's time Merlin took a sober look at the situation. Whether he is actually capable of leaving Arthur like that is another question, or perhaps he'll have no other choice. Either way, there's still time...**

Next up: Morgana settles in, Camelot falls out. I'm finally getting to the scenes I've had in my head for ages. I've always loved the prospect of her returning, still righteous, badass and morally gray. Hope you'll be enjoying it as well! Thank you for reading and all the feedback so far : )


	21. Before the Queen

A/N: Sorry everyone for the way too late update, again. It's been crazy busy times after the holidays, finished a major project, moved to another country, enroled at a new uni, etc etc. But, without further delay: chapter 21.

* * *

.

**Before the Queen**

. . .

Morgana stands in her old chambers, sorting out her belongings. Her hand stills, savouring the smoothness of the fabric. Between the gold embroidered lining, traces of memories linger on like the scent of inscence and foreign sands.

It seems like months, rather than weeks, since she wore these robes. Leaving the patronage of the Catha, far from her life in Camelot, she'd enjoyed a short but welcome reprieve. Prophecies appeared like dreams - distant and unthreatening while the sun burned bright and steady through the canopy of her tent. Life was... undemanding.

She could perhaps compare this to the first year with Morgause, travelling under her care and protection, from place to place, shrine to shrine - but that would be not quite true. She'd been too exhausted, confused, and not a little let down - by herself and others - to appreciate the journey. Appreciation came later, but it was already infused with anticipation, each step a part of a plan. A preparation for something bigger.

But then again - wasn't this all the same, a plan like any other? And since when did Merlin become a major part in them? Or perhaps he was there all along, except now she knows it. And knowledge is power. Just as Morgause said, except she doubts her sister had this particular outcome in mind...

_Merlin, of all people... Emrys, the future father of her child._

Perhaps Morgana might have known, might have been able to foresee it, had she been taught how. But Morgause had never pushed her to be trained as a seer. Even now, as her powers are returning, they are vague and often confusing, sometimes untrue or downright disturbing...

Searching some solace, Morgana feels the bracelet adorning her wrist. The metal feels solid and cold.

_Camelot had always been a place for nightmares. Who says they shall not return?_

_. . ._

The door opens, and unannounced, a servant she can't remember strides briskly into the room, a large basket to her side.

"My Lady," the girl curtsies stiffly as she discovers Morgana's presence. "I was not aware you were here." Then, without a further preamble, she continues to carry out her task: lifting a stack of linen out of the basket, to replace the old ones.

For a while, there's but the rustling of fabrics.

"What's your name?" Morgana asks for the lack of anything better.

A pair of heavy hands clutch the basket tighter. "Ava," she counters, daringly. Like a peasant encountering a wolf on a field.

Act calm, and don't get bitten.

"You're not a handmaid, are you?" Morgana observes, calmly.

A shake of head.

"I work down in the kitchens, M'Lady. I was sent up to do your linen."

A loaded silence falls over the room again, interrupted only by the swish and thump of fabrics.

Morgana watches Ava's sturdy movements, collecting the pile of clothes to wash in a heavy bunch. Somehow, Gwen had always appeared so graceful while doing the exact same chores.

Finished with the task, the girl looks up at last, and at her clothes, laid out into a huge pile.

"M'Lady," the girl turns, "What do you wish from these?"

The wardrobe doors hang open. Empty but for coats and furs. A heap of silvers, greens, purples and reds is decked out on her chair. She found them hanging they way she'd left them, down to the order in which she would wear them. Moth balls still tied to the racks, it is clear that no one has neither dared to move them since nor let them go waste.

Overcome by a strange sense of satisfaction, Morgana glides her hand over the fabrics. Smooth and soft and silky and crisp. A wave of emotions attached to each, a distant echo from the past.

"Nothing," she instructs, voice distant. "Do away with them."

Stunned to a silence, the girl finally begins to stack them onto the basket, one by one. They're all stunning, priceless, worth of many a peasant's livelihoods. But then again, she'd hardly fit into them in the months to come...

"Are you sure, M'lady?" Ava's hand hovers over the last, the silver one, as one would over a wounded animal.

"Absolutely," Morgana confirms. "Make sure I'll never see them again."

With a curtsy, the girl disappears with the load of velvet and lace.

Morgana watches her go. It's waste, sure enough. Keeping them would have made sense - they do belong to her by right, and selling them would make a small fortune... Yet as much as the threads of cold and silver, time and memories are woven into them. One she got from Uther for her birthday, in that one she hugged Morgause last, another she wore as she got crowned, one in which she felt the prettiest, eyes dipped in black.

She'd burned the one he poisoned her in, long, long time ago. The blackened jewels glittered in the ashes, and she cried and stamped on them and threw them in the lake.

Morgause said nothing at the time.

Just waited at the shoreline, for her to return.

* * *

The servant leaves the door open, creating a draft between the windows and the hallway. Slowly, the dusty smell begins to disappear.

Relaxing a bit, Morgana closes her eyes, looking for bits of herself that still belong here. Anything to prove she's more than a jumble of memories thrown together.

"Why are you doing this?" A woman's voice behind her.

Morgana turns away from the window. Jewellery frames the new Queen as she walks across the room, hands demurely clasped together.

Distracted, Morgana stares at her in her chamber. Much like her, she doesn't belong here. Not like this.

She seems to be doing well, almost glowing without her, it hurts admit.

But then again, she was always much more than a simple servant. Morgana herself picked up on it first, clung on to her, held like her own treasure. An almost sister - before she found a real one. Before she realised how different they truly were...

"Throwing away my dresses?" Morgana evades, raising an eyebrow. Buying time to put on a mask.

"No, that I understand." Gwen steps further, her wide skirts swishing along. "I used to dress you, remember?"

"Vaguely," she admits, and it's almost not a lie. There are bits and pieces of her, picking her outfits, pinning up her hair. But mostly, she remembers the night terrors, and their late night talks, the secrets shared...

That Gwen knew her, and she knew her tricks. Inside and out.

_This might become a problem yet_.

"Why did you agree to stay here?" Gwen repeats, silently. It's hard to tell if she expects a real answer, but the question is real enough.

"I thought it was obvious," she counters, bringing her hands around the swell of her belly. In this light it's barely visible, tough no less real.

Gwen's eyes grow inexplicably sad, a crease of digging into her brow. In coming winter only one of them will give birth to a Pendragon. For all their love, it's strange the Queen is not expecting, given the months passed since the wedding night.

Strange, if not troubling. A king without an heir. When has that ever ended well?

Th Queen observes her carefully, trying to see underneath her cold stare.

"There is more. Something you're not telling me..." she halts, sitting down on a chair. The gown pillows around her, more massive and sumptuous than hers ever were.

"I don't know what you want me to say." Morgana glares at her sceptically and moves over to the chest of clothes.

"How about some truth?"

Gwen observes her without a trace of apprehension.

"The child's father. Were you in love with him?"

The question scares Morgana, though she does her best to hide it.

"Is this where we're about to confide in each other, laugh and embrace like sisters?" she chuckles, moving back to her belongings, she turns her back on the servant-turned-Queen.

Nothing would have come of it. Much like Merlin, Gwen is not against suffering, lost cause or not. She would never join her side. Even as she made her believe so once.

"No." Gwen shakes her head, unfolding her hands. "This is the chance to establish some goodwill between us. We both know there's not much left to begin with. I know what you promised Arthur, and he thinks he's knows why you agreed to this, but I need to hear it from you. Why are here and not with him, Morgana?"

Tired from the interrogation, Morgana clenches down completely.

"We're not friends anymore... I don't have to spill my heart to you."

"Were we ever?" Guinevere asks, suddenly, like the thought has been revolving around her head much too long.

Morgana stares back, considering. Something ancient stirs in her chest. A place long forgotten.

"I thought so once."

Gwen nods, slowly, and with a swish of silks and petticoats, leaves her to her doings.

For a while, the room is quiet again. Just the wind between the windows. Morgana sighs and slumps on the bed.

The sheets are unbearably smooth.

* * *

Merlin walks through the servants quarters and empty corridors. The palace feels different somehow - otherwise crowded places are silent, whispers echo behind closed doors. But most of all - free labourers have disappeared within five miles radius.

Unbelievable. It's her first day here, and her presence has already made a mark on the place.

Taking the familiar stairs to her quarters, he suddenly realises how odd this is going to be. Ally or not - she's still a royalty, while his stature still requires him to bow to superiors.

Some etiquette can be ignored around his friends, but there'll be no explanation for him to extend such familiarity to her. And if he would, Arthur would expect his insight on the matter.

It's not about the false loyalties. He just has too many.

Merlin raises his hand to knock, but stops, as the door is part open.

. . .

Morgana is sitting on the bed, her back to him, her mass of black hair let down, slightly mussed from sleep and the lack of care recently.

She hasn't noticed him yet.

It's strange to observe this rare, unguarded moment of her. The way she still is, sometimes. The slump of her back, the dip of her lowered head, deep in thought, it's... it's breathtaking.

Merlin coughs, nudging the door a bit wider.

Realizing she has company, Morgana jumps up, straightened, her brow curved to a lofty arch. Then, seeing him she deflates again.

"Merlin."

"Milady," he grins with a slight bow on the way.

She seems surprised, rather than amused by this joke. But then again, nothing feels right yet.

Stepping closer, he makes his way around the crates and boxes, scattered around the freshly cleaned room. He hasn't been in her room since... well, since she left this place. And as far as he knew, only Arthur had the key.

"Any news of the girl?" she asks, dispassionately.

"No."

"How hard can it be, finding a handmaid?" she wonders, annoyed. "You'd think the palace is a sought after place to work."

Merlin stares at her. _A__ true mystery indeed._

"They've all been warned."

"Warned? Of what exactly?" Morgana reasons, "Arthur promised no harm would come to those who serve me. What could they possibly fear?"

"Just you, Morgana."

She lets out a bitter laugh.

"Strange, since my last maid was crowned a Queen," she muses, almost to herself.

"Yes. You have an impeccable record with servants," Merlin agrees, sitting on the bed.

She does not laugh this time, but the joke hits them both. Rolling her eyes, she lays down, as if tired of it all.

And so is he..

* * *

Sitting together, they both lapse back into silence. Both impossibly aware of this, yet unwilling to distrupt it, to end this newfound peace.

It's strange and unusual, much like all else here. Only this does not make her want to crawl out of her skin. Or blow things up.

Lying back on her pillows, she observes him on the opposite end of her bed, his fine profile outlined in the yellow glow from the fire, long fingers picking at some callouses, brow drawn together in concentration.

She never thought of him as handsome, perhaps adorable once - in that boyish way that made Gwen blush and kitchen maids giggle. Add years to that, sharpen the angles and fill in the forms, and he's just about the sight you'd pass an eternity with.

If they survive that long.

"Do you think..." he begins, hesitant, before facing her, eyes dark and intense. "Will we ever... get along?"

Something warm and heavy settles down her chest. Morgana looks up at him, the meaning behind it... Other than him joining her side, they left things rather unspecified.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"You, mostly."

He breathes out a short laugh. "Doesn't it always?"

She stares back at him, mystified.

"You make it sound like a bad thing. Having the choice."

"In a way it is," Merlin shrugs, looking away. "It's always your fault. And there's no way you can please everyone."

"Yet you still try..."

"What else is there to do?" he shrugs, already struggling with something else. She can't even begin to boy always was an enigma - and it's hardly about to change now.

Huffing to herself, Morgana sits up adjusting, adjusting the pillows so they'd support herself better. The last thing she needs is another back ache.

Merlin observes her with something akin to paranoia.

"Now that you've settled in, perhaps you should let Gaius have a look at you."

Morgana shoots him the look. Her lips curve into a wry grin.

"And do what? Fix me some more drafts?"

Merlin stares back, unamused. She's being unfair, and she knows it. But the old man has tricked her once too many times to let it slide.

"Gaius says-"

"I don't care what he says. If you're serious about helping me, get me my healers from lower town."

"Arthur doesn't trust any healing spells, not since Uther... You know why," Merlin reminds her. "Besides, Gaius is the best chance we've got. Think about it - who else would know more about magical birth? Anywhere in five Kingdoms?"

_Good point_. But his insistence is not enough. _The old man ended her reign. He hurt Morgause. In all that's happened to her, he's as much to blame_. "Why should I trust him?"

Merlin meets her gaze, sad but earnest.

"Because I do. He knows all my secrets."

Well, she's suspected that much.

"And mine," Morgana adds, staring at the canopy with dull realisation.

Merlin swallows, looking away.

How many times had she turned to Gaius, scared and alone? How many times had he lied to her? What made her so different from Merlin, so undeserving of the truth? Wasn't she family, too - having grown up here under his care? Was it really her station that made them all turn away? King's ward or not, wouldn't being found out possessing magic have changed it all? From princess to a prisoner. Like it nearly happened once.

For the briefest moment, she is reminded of the sight of the chopping block in the courtyard. The distant, silent fear she's come to detest. And everyone else with it.

Eyes closed, she feels old grief tingling behind her lids.

"He did what he thought was best for you..." the warlock amends, voice thick. "The truth would have been worse."

She finds it hard to believe.

* * *

**A/N: ****I've decided to include some names of minor characters from the fifth series just to tie the story and characters more to the canon verse. Their storylines will be significantly different here, so no real spoilers imho - but, just so you know : )**

Next up: Gwaine's POV coming up. Thank you for following and your kind reviews! Hope you enjoyed : )


	22. From the Heart

A/N: As promised, some of Gwaine's POV. Also, most fun I've had with a chapter in ages : )

* * *

.

**From the Heart**

. . .

Merlin sods through the gates, shoulders hunched, mind scattered. It's the beginning of the second week, eight long days since their secret pact - or _that awful gamble, _as Gaius puts it - and things... things have been weird. Inside the palace and outside.

Every day something new pops up. Half the council meetings have been dismissed, while the rest are spent on calming the folk that do turn up. Paranoia has reached its all time high, turning every shadow a threat, every mishap a curse.

Not to mention the time and effort spent on quelling the rumours circulating the lower town that the young King has finally lost his marbles... Either that or Morgana has put on him some great enchantment to keep the King wrapped around her finger.

Merlin sighs, tired of it all. And yet, there's no rest in sight.

He's been trying to see her, every now and again. At times she complains about him following her - yet skip a day and she's back on your track, demanding the reason for your absence.

It's as if he's again torn between three masters - Morgana, Arthur, and his Destiny. Kilgharrah and Gaius don't even come close. There's just too much on his plate right now...

And all the while, he also has a daily job - advising the King.

Well, more like tagging along wherever he goes, which is pretty much what he was doing before except now he is expected to stay informed about it.

Which wouldn't be so hard without so many distractions...

Across the courtyard, several knights are returning from the patrol, Gwaine among them.

Passing through the arches, he nods vaguely, attempting to follow Arthur's monologue on the bright side of all that's been happening lately.

"- can see we're doing the right thing. I mean..." he reasons on their way back to the palace. "Things are bound to settle down in a matter of weeks. Right, Merlin?"

He's yet to talk to Gwaine, after... well, after he blabbed out his big secret. _Their_ secret, that is. Will she be furious or just mock him? Possibly both.

"Merlin?"

And, as if by chance, the Lady Morgana herself makes her appearance in the colonnade, hair glistening like some dark gold, jaw set in bold determination. And, to make matters worse, Gwaine is walking straight towards her.

_Uh oh._

The knight bows low, his grin unmistakable. Morgana stops, staring down at him as if he were a bug. _One about to get crushed.__  
_

Arthur follows his eyeline and frowns. "You're worried, I see."

"A bit," Merlin admits, his task forgotten.

"Relax. She's not going to turn him into a toad." Arthur pauses. "Unless provoked."

Merlin grins. "Have you _met_ Gwaine?"

Arthur laughs, then contemplates on the sight.

Gwaine does not appear to be holding himself back. Morgana's smile grows positively lethal.

"He'll be fine." The King has lost his interest. "Let's go..."

The knight keeps talking, leaning casually on his sword. Any minute now, he'll burst into flames.

Morgana turns on her heel... Then. Nothing. Extending his arm, the knight walks with her to the gates.

_What the-... _

_"Mer_lin_."_

_And what on earth are they __talking about?_

"We can't be late again, Merlin." Arthur shouts, already ten paces ahead.

"I thought that was one of the royal prerogatives." Merlin manages, tearing his eyes away from the two. _Distancing slowly._

A sharp glare.

"Keep talking and you'll lose the one you have."

"Which is?"

"Keep talking..."

* * *

"Well, if it isn't Morgana Le Fey. The jewel of the night."

Gwaine bows deep enough to touch his toes. The royalty eyes him with equal amounts of scorn.

"Last time I checked, I was still Pendragon. Or have you forgotten?"

"Oh. I wish, My Lady." Gwaine chuckles, catching a glimpse of Merlin's panic-stricken face. "But you're exceedingly hard to forget."

Lifting her chin, she brushes past him, blue satins and silks billowing at her wake. With three long strides, he's back at her side, proffering his arm, like a true gentleman that he is.

Morgana stares at it in surprise.

"I don't need an escort, least of all from a knight of Camelot, to see my followers."

"I was not always a knight," he amends, turning to her. "As you weren't always a Pendragon."

Flecks of gold haunt the depths of her eyes, underneath the green calm. Gently, he lifts her arm, studies the engravings on the bracelet. The fire dies in an instant.

"Gorlois, is it not his crest?"

She says nothing. Both can feel the stares of the courtyard on them. For the lack of anything better, they begin to move.

"He was a man of honour, or so they said. Unlike many others..."

"Did Arthur put you up to this," Morgana interrupts, cutting through his charm, "guard my every move, make sure I won't run off?"

"I'm afraid it's beyond my prowess, My Lady," he counters, chuckling.

They walk down the gravel path, while the workers cast them alternatingly sacred and curious glares.

"Besides, does it matter? Even you must admit it's more amusing this way. And with me by your side it's only half as likely you'll get pelted by rotten fruit."

Morgana laughs, teeth exposed.

"If that were the case, Merlin would suffice. After all, he's had years of practise as a one-man-shield."

Gwaine grins, having struck gold.

"Merlin is held up by Arthur at the moment." He adds, mock-sympathetic, "I'm afraid my skills will have to do."

Morgana's smile falters for a moment, but she continues, nonplussed.

"With some training, who knows? You might yet learn some manners."

"Perhaps." He stops, disentangling their arms. "But not today. My day ends here."

Then, with another ridiculous bow, he disappears through the doors of the tavern.

* * *

Merlin darts past the drunk soldiers, up the steps and into the shady halls of The Rising Sun. It's already late afternoon and knowing his habits, this is the only possible place to find...

"Gwaine!"

The knight turns at the bar and pats him on the shoulder. "Merlin! My best mate and the unsung hero."

"Luckily enough," Merlin mumbles under his breath.

Gwaine snaps his fingers for two more pitchers of ale.

"Listen, Gwaine," Merlin leans closer to whisper, "I need to talk to you."

"And there's no one else I'd rather hear. Sit down old friend."

Carrying the ale he directs him towards the remaining free table.

"It's about our secret..."

"Which one?" Gwaine asks with a twinkle in his eye... Merlin stares at him, puzzled.

Is he drunk already? Or merely joking. The problem is, you can never tell. Not outside the training grounds at least. Luckily, he is a loyal friend and by far one of the best swordsmen Merlin has ever met, so it hardly makes a difference.

"The one about Morgana," he clarifies, voice half-whisper. Around them, the room roars with laughter and merriment. Gwain gulps at his drink.

"Let's have it." The knight pushes the other one at him.

The ale smells inviting.

. . .

Two hours later.

"I love her," Merlin slurs, drunkenly. "You made me see that, Gwaine, you did that to me."

"Hey, don't blame it all on me." The rogue knight holds up his palms, laughing.

"No. No blaming," he agrees, "You're a good friend. The best I've got." He hiccups. "Don't tell Arthur."

"I'll add it to the list," the scruffier man laughs, amused to no end. Yet another side to Merlin he'd never seen. While he feels eternally sorry for the guy, the hilarity of it all is undeniable. Another pitcher of ale and the boy will sing with the bards of fated love.

"This... tune is so beautiful. _She_, she is beautiful." Merlin rambles, inbetween the flute and the drum, tapping the rhythm under the table. "Like magic."

Gwaine chuckles, "If you mean pretty scary, then yea. Just like magic."

Another hiccup, and his companion stills for a while, panicking a bit. "No, pretty like magic, like..." A chorus of cheers... the minstrel bows.

The tune changes and Merlin's line of thoughts with it.

. . .

Three pints later... Even Gwaine has trouble staying on track, but poor Merlin... is plastered. Definitely not the best thing in his delicate condition.

"I love her..."

"Have you ever told her?"

"No. Never," Merlin states, all business-like. Gwaine already prevented him from drinking any more, but his lanky friend shows no signs of improvement.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because..." A pause. "I can't."

"You make no sense, friend," Gwaine smiles, and for a moment, he gets a distinct impression that tables have turned. "Perhaps we should go home now."

Merlin nods eagerly.

Walking back is going to be a feat.

. . .

It is.

And to make matters worse, the man has another epiphany along the way, one he can't stop talking about. It's one thing to speak of it in a noisy tavern, yet quite another whilst passing the guards.

With the right door in sight, Gwaine rushes to the rescue, distracting yet another patrol with his drunken act.

When he turns around, moments later, the hallway is empty: the lovelorn bard has gone to sleep. He can only hope the poor guy's got nothing important planned for the morning. _- _For there's almost every chance he'll miss it.

Gwaine shakes his head and turns around, whistling as he goes. Merlin was right. - It is a great tune.

* * *

A loud knocking. Some strange rhythm, like something being dragged along the wood. Cautiously, Morgana opens the door.

He must be insane.

"Merlin? What is this?" she demands, glancing around. No guards.

"I- was... careful," he assures, haltingly.

"There's a first time for everything, I see."

Merlin nods with a shrug. Leaning against the door jamb, he's wearing a strange kind of smile. An open-mouthed adoration. Something's off.

Then, it dawns on her.

"Have you been to the tavern?"

She's heard Arthur complaining about him spending his time there, but she always assumed it was some misunderstanding. A cover-up, perhaps.

"Morgana-..." he begins anyhow, but is interrupted by the loud noise in the stairwell.

The tell-tale booted footsteps, the shrill whisper of the chain mail.

Merlin turns, the panic too slow to reach his eyes.

He's going to get caught unless she does something.

_- Oh for Goddess' sake... _

Rolling her eyes, she pulls him in with one decisive shove.

. . .

"Lady Morgana?" A deep voice. "Open up, please."

Her hand on Merlin's mouth, Morgana casts a warning look. The warlock blinks, nodding slowly. Removing her hand, she watches her stumble away from the doorway, while she musses up her hair, and kills the lights in a glance.

Unlatching the door in her nightdress, she is wearing her iciest glare.

"What is the meaning of this?"

The first guard hesitates, but the other one speaks up.

"There were noises, My Lady. We think there might be an intruder."

"The only intruders here are you. You think this is a good cause to wake me from my sleep?"

"My Lady, we were only doing our job."

"Then do it elsewhere. Interrupt me again and your King will hear about this."

"My Lady..."

Without waiting for a reply she shuts the door.

. . .

"Since when did our agreement include me saving your sorry skin?" Morgana growls when the guards have left.

Merlin has made his way away from the door and stumbled onto her bed. Smiling happily, he stares at her, gaze hooded, limbs hanging limply over the floor.

"Sorry," he manages.

He sounds sincere.

_No lies, no disguises._

Returning to her bed she towers over him, his eyes still on her, but not quite awake. _Now what?_

Somehow, she can't muster herself to kick him out of her room, not like this. Unguarded, almost vulnerable. With the guards lurking around the corner.

_If he betrays himself because of this, it will be his own fault. Not hers. _The deal will stand, regardless.

Pulling back the sheets, she lies down on the other side. There's more than enough room for the three of them. Besides, they're way past formalities by now.

_Yes. This can work._

With the last look Merlin's sleepy face, she blows out the candle.

In the darkness, there's just the two of them, breathing. Two patches of dark against the paleness of her bed. Relaxed, she closes her eyes. Dreams come.

Turning towards her, on the verge of sleep, he sighs...

"I love you."

Morgana's eyes snap open.

* * *

**A/N: Hee... Consider this the pay-off for the earlier angstiness, and though there may be more later, I'm happy to have reached this part of the story.**

Up next: The morning after. And yes, more Merlin/Morgana scenes headed your way. Thank you for sticking with the story so far and reviewing!


	23. From the Start

A/N: Just a short update to finish that last twist...

* * *

.

**From the Start**

. . .

Morgana stares into the darkened space around her, already regretting the decision to let him stay here. _You don't just drop a bomb like that and nod off_. Moreover, she can't even be sure if it was directed at her - or even true at all. Perhaps it was just another drunken rambling... Not that she cares. Well. But she does, and he doesn't get away that easily. Not this time.

"Merlin."

She shakes his shoulder, lightly, then more urgently. The warlock only groans through his sleep, bats her hand away clumsily, mumbling, "Not now Gaius."

There's your lover, now. Morgana bites the inside of her cheek, testily.

_This won't do._

In a matter of minutes, he'll slip deep into the dream world, beyond her reach, leaving her wondering about the meaning of this till the break of dawn. If ever.

Pulling back the sheets, she marches over to the washing basin and grabs the pitcher from the stand. There's still some water sloshing in it, yet just about enough to wake a man.

Yet, before she can put her plan in action, a hand grabs the hold of her wrist.

"What are you doing?" he mumbles, eyes opening to the semi-darkness. Morgana stares back at him, and puts the pitcher away. Two or three candles sputter to life, revealing her uncompromising glare.

"No. What are _you_ doing? Is this some joke?"

Merlin blinks at her with some difficulty. "No." Then, hesitating. "Is it?"

Breathing deeply, Morgana rubs her temples. He's probably in no shape to have this conversation. His hold around her wrist loosens, and slides around her fingers, pressing them against his palm. For a moment, he's completely concentrated on that.

"You came here in the middle of the night, risked getting seen - to tell me... what exactly?"

She crosses her arms, waiting

"I don't know." He angles himself to sit up on her bed, staring somewhere at her midsection.

"Well, you seemed to remember quite fine, just moments ago."

A light in his eyes. A hunch.

"Oh..."

"Is that all?" For all her acting talents she can't hide the disappointment in her voice.

"Sorry. It wasn't meant to be like this."

"Like what?" Morgana demands, pushing down the feeling like something's being ripped away from her.

Merlin eyes her openly, a strange and sad smile froming on his lips.

"Like, even now," he explains slowly, trying his best to focus his thoughts. "I'm here, as I promised. I'm with you. You heard me and you can't even-... accept this."

"So you admit it - what you just said?" she demands, adamant to hear it from him.

"No," Merlin shakes his head, stubbornly. "Not until you're ready to do the same."

_The insolence._ Drunk or sober - he's still clever. _She also__ shouldn't find it attractive_.

Morgana backs away a few steps, returning the pitcher to its place and regains her demeanour.

"You're overly confident about yourself, warlock."

Despite the distance she created between them, he continues unfazed,

"Would it be so bad, to love and be loved in return?"

There's _that _word again. Much like chopping blocks and stakes, it leaves her utterly petrified.

"Everyone I loved is dead. I'd say it's a luxury."

He gives her an odd look.

"I'm not." He scratches his head, grinning. "Though you did try."

"Well, you started it," she throws back without fire. It's an old argument, and not particularly helpful to her cause.

Merlin bites his lip, letting it slide...

"I'm not going anywhere. You should know that by now." He pauses, words spilling out of his mouth too easily, their games abandoned. "And know that it's not just because you're carrying our child - it's something we've been trying to ignore, for a long time... You felt it, too. Remember? It was you who sought me out, once you knew why."

Morgana listens, wordless. That time seems like ages ago, just as her dying sister, the feel of the crown on her head. Before this madness begun. Even her own thought process seems foreign to her, disjointed.

"You could have killed me instead, or left me die - more than once. but you didn't," he concludes. Another flaw in her defence. A soft spot, where Morgause didn't reach.

"I didn't trust it at first... I thought - it was a trap. But you fell in it, too. As much as I. I see it now. We are in it together. Always were." He grows silent, waiting for some reaction.

"So..." he stands, slowly. For a perplexing moment, she does not know what to do. Too many omens, ideas, words of others... _but_ _where are her own_? - Fading, as she grapples for control.

Morgana swallows, leans her head against the wall. Undisturbed, Merlin walks closer. His hand hovers over her back, hesitant.

"I'll go, if you wish..." he breathes down the back of her neck. _Still waiting..._

Morgana pulls in a sharp breath_. Curse__ his drunken candour._

Turning around, she closes the distance between them, and without any declarations, crashes his mouth to hers. His smells brings back memories of knights and taverns and long evenings in sun and something... something she'd almost forgotten. Something oddly necessary.

Fingers in his hair and she presses into him, for something finally feels right in here. This cold and unwelcoming place.

"Morgana..." he murmurs, before she cuts him off.

"I'll try."

Smiling against her mouth, he breathes out from relief and she nudges him backwards, closer to the bed. His hands roaming up and down her back, through the thin chemise.

"Morgana..." he struggles again, distracted by her mouth on his neck and her hands under his shirt. "I mean it, I - I love you."

"I know. I heard you the first time," she grins and pins him down on the mattress, hair ruffled, shirt open, looking rather wild herself.

Merlin chuckles through the cascade of her hair. "This time, no water please..."

* * *

For the first time since he can remember, Morgana awakens with a smile.

He's been sitting by her side, fully dressed, waiting for her to wake up to his staring. Blinking groggily, the pale green eyes study him in silent question.

"I have to go," he answers, and leaning over her, plants a soft kiss on her lips. Morgana hums in response. He withdraws with some difficulty and walks to the door, preparing to sneak out.

Still sleepy, she rolls over, and he stills at this sight of her. Pale and dark, backlit by the soft glow of dawn. Like a goddess.

Perfect and serene.

_And that's what it will be, from now on. Nothing else would do. No lies, no more secrets._

"I'll come see you," he promises, mostly to himself, "after lunch."

Her eyes drift shut.

The door clicks behind him. The day begins.

. . .

Against all expectations, Merlin appears at work right on time. Gwaine cast him an incredulous look as he passed him in the hallway, surprised to see him so bright and careless. - This is going to cost him some more explanations, but at the moment Merlin can't even begin to worry. This day will be just fine.

Knocking on the door, he enters the royal chambers with a courtly bow.

"Good morning, My Queen. My King."

The couple has just finished the meal, with Arthur loitering at the table, going over some letters.

"Morning Merlin," Gwen responds with a smile, fixing a velvet cape around her shoulders.

"You're in a good mood," Arthur comments, suspicious. "Is everything alright?"

"It's a new day. The weather is good and the city has survived another night." Merlin retorts. "What is there not to be happy about?"

"How about the amount of documents I'm about to hand you?"

"Arthur..." Guinevere berates on her way out. "Be nice."

"Fine," he relents, just to please her. "We're going hunting today, so get ready."

_Wait, what? _For once Merlin regrets complaining about the dusty scrolls.

"For the whole day?" he asks with a forced smile. _Please let it be a joke..._

"I should hope so," Arthur declares and empties his cup. "As Guinevere says, some fresh air will do us both some good."

"Indeed," Merlin pipes, heart sinking. "How thoughtful of her."

* * *

**A/N: Here you go, some fluff before the drama builds up again. Morgana is growing increasingly aware her feelings, but there's still more work to be done before she can be as comfortable about it as Merlin. Something for the future chapters...**

Next up: Merlin suffering through a hunting trip, and Morgana back in Camelot. Thank you for reading and reviewing. Hope you enjoyed : )


	24. From the Fear

A/N: It's a talking chapter. Drama - yes, but how else?

* * *

.

**From the Fear**

. . .

The day started lovely, but is already tainted by the few clouds on the horizon and the branches in his hair. Whipping them away, Merlin guides his mare through the forest path.

Arthur gives him a look. Merlin's too million miles away to notice before it's too late.

"I know what you're thinking."

"You do?" the warlock counters, trying to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

"Yes," Arthur counters, pleased with himself. "You're thinking it was foolish to leave Morgana in Camelot with just Guinevere to keep the order." Merlin opens his mouth to protest, but Arthur is not finished...

"But you're wrong. I'm going to prove my faith in her as well as Morgana. Besides, Gwen is as brave as any knight and has the absolute loyalty of my men."

"That wasn't what I thought at all."

"What is it then? You've been moody all morning, you hardly laugh at my jokes..."

"Maybe because they're not funny."

"Haa, see? That's the annoying you that I know. So tell me, what's been troubling you?"

Merlin freezes, thinking on his feet.

"Nothing. I - ... I had a long night... At the tavern."

Arhtur chuckles. "Gwaine told me."

"He did?" Merlin's eyebrow creeps up.

_More importantly: _what_ did he tell?_

"Yea, he warned me that you wouldn't be fit for today. Even offered himself in your stead. But seeing you so chirpy this morning I changed my mind."

_Great._

"Thanks."

Arthur frowns, "Why don't I believe you?"

Merlin says nothing. He's not in his best form today. He'd better keep his mouth shut...

They ride in peace for another while, before he detects another one of Arthur's suspicious looks on him.

_Maybe he should stop thinking about Morgana's hair and focus on the journey ahead?_

"It's not about a girl, is it?"

_Bullseye._

Feeling quite unwell already, he manages not to react.

"No. Why?"

"'Cause if it is, you can tell me," Arthur suggests, amiably. "I'm not just your King, I'm your friend, too. And friends share these things."

"Like you shared your thoughts and feelings about Gwen?"

Again. Not a good point.

"Haa," Arthur points at him. "So there _is_ a girl."

It's been long since Morgana's been called that.

"No. Just a hangover," Merlin laughs through the beginning of a massive headache. "But if there is, I'll let you know - one day."

Content, Arthur nods and stares ahead. They pass out of the small glade. Merlin seems to have survived the questioning.

For now.

. . .

An hour later, the sun is high and burning hot over their heads, making the clothes warm and clammy. Merlin would much rather spend the day in bed. Preferrably with Morgana...

_Arthur would kill him if he really knew what he was thinking._

Then, at the crossing, he pulls to the left back to a main road.

"What are you doing?" Merlin sobers, confused. "The best hunting grounds are west from here."

"I know," Arthur counters, riding further along the wrong path. "But we're not going hunting."

Dismayed for the second time this day, Merlin pulls at the reigns, and follows.

"Why didn't you say so?"

"And let you spoil then surprise for Gwen's birthday present? I know how you are, Merlin. You're terrible at keeping secrets."

Merlin lets out a long breath.

_One day, Arthur... One day._

* * *

Morgana stands at her window, reading the slip of paper she found on the night table. The imprint is magical, and revealed by her contact alone. She watches it disappear a couple of times... _A nice touch. _It doesn't lessen her chagrin, though: she has to spend the day alone, locked up in the citadel, surrounded by people who hate her behind her back.

Shame, for it seems such a pleasant day...

Then: knocking. For a moment, she gets excited. Though the chances are, it's another servant.

Stepping in, there's Guinevere. _Well, what do you say? - _She was right after all.

"Morgana?"

"Gwen," she responds flatly.

The Queen steps inside, taking in the state of her undress. Morgana's in the robe that looks more like a shift - for she's spend half her time napping on the bed, trying to catch up on the lost hours of sleep.

Unshaken by the stark contrast of their apparel, Morgana leans back in the seat at her window, where the sun pours over the blank note.

"Are you feeling well?"

"Quite so."

"You'll be pleased to know I've found a maid for you. She's young, and she's a druid girl. So be kind to her."

Morgana perks up on her chair. _A druid, she says? _As much as she's tired of doing her own bed and waiting for her bathwater, having a personal servant will only complicate her secret rendezvous...

Or perhaps, she can come up with an agreement. Or intimidation, if necessary... _Though Merlin wouldn't probably see it this way._

"Oh. What's her name?"

"Sefa." Gwen pulls a worried smile. "She's your kind, treat her well."

"Didn't I always?" she counters. "... Given they're loyal."

"As if I wasn't?" Gwen takes the bait she didn't even mean to give her.

"No. Not anymore."

Morgana rests her head on the sill, her dark hair heating up in the sun.

"And what made you think that?"

She meets Gwen's honest brown eyes, her freckled cheeks she once adored... Long time ago.

"A woman always picks the side of the man she loves, over anything else."

"You speak of things you cannot know," Gwen points out, vehement and more than a little hurt. "I would have never outed you."

Morgana clucks her tongue, irritated.

"Yes, but you see, I don't want to hide, to live in secret... Pretending every day not to be what I am. As if it's something to be ashamed of."

Gwen crosses her arms, far from being persuaded.

"So you chose your kind - over your friends?"

"Friends?" It's Morgana's turn to choke. "Friends don't force you to live in fear. Friends don't sacrifice your life and wellbeing to support unjust laws and the rule of a tyrant. As if you haven't seen Uther's true face, how he treated at you, when he found out about you and Arthur? Or have you forgotten?"

"I've always suspected it was you behind it all. Tell me I'm wrong!" Gwen says then, baring the steel hidden under her serene demeanor. The steel that's carried her through all the hardships.

"Morgana?"

But Morgana is like water. Impulsive and vague, and unstoppable like a flood.

She tries to smirk, but the emotions take over. "I tried to make you see who you were serving!" There goes her control. "Think back, my fair Queen... Did Arthur stand up to you? Was he thrown to the dungeon like I once was? Would he have sacrificed everything for you?"

"He would," Guinevere whispers. "He was prepared to."

"Yet he chose to deny it - hide you like a dirty secret. Then blamed it all on magic. Remind you of anyone?"

Shaking her head, her eyes grow sadder.

"Arthur had no other choice," Gwen defends him, adamant. "It was his duty before his Kingdom."

"Was it also for the Kingdom when you served his father, old and feeble-minded, day in and day out? He who sentenced you to death, who left you to the bandits? The man who had your own father killed."

"He died escaping-"

"Either that or the chopping block."

"Uther only did what he thought was right," Gwen insists, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. "He did what was good for Camelot."

Morgana chuckles, hurt and bitter, "His only good deed was to die at last. And even that he couldn't do on his own..."

Gwen pales.

"It was you... wasn't it?"

Panic-stricken, Morgana grasps that she may have taken a step too far.

If Arthur finds out... _It will all be over._

"Morgana..." Gwen shakes her head, biting her lip. There's only pity and no more anger there... Morgana can't look at her.

"You should thank me instead. It was the best thing that happened to Camelot. It's the reason you can call yourself a Queen."

"But your own father... How could you?"

The sorceress swallows, crying as well. "No. Uther killed and betrayed my father. Like he did so many others. He slept with my mother and sent his friend to die, so he could raise me... And in the end, he didn't even have the guts to admit it. The hypocrite."

Gwen dries her tears, surprised to have evoked such strong emotional reaction from her - the truth, underneath the pain.

"All this loss is making you cruel..."

"Cruel - me?" Morgana looks at her, incredulous. "_He_ ordered my sister to be executed when she was but five. _He_ was the one without mercy."

"And so were you in your quest for power. You starved the very people you once fed..."

Frustrated, Morgana stands up, desperate to make her point.

"Why do you keep defending his crimes and reminding me of mine? What makes mine so much worse?"

"Because," Gwen says, calmly. "Yours were committed for revenge and his... from fear."

Her mouth goes dry.

Morgana seethes, eyes red. "Don't you dare tell me about fear..."

"You were better than that," Gwen concludes, adamant. "I knew this. - As I knew you."

Morgana opens her mouth and closes it. Nothing comes out.

. . .

Sitting down, she gasps for air. _No. Not this again_.

"Morgana?" Gwen's voice sounds from somewhere far away. "Are you alright?"

Two deep breaths. One ragged one.

"Just fine," she grunts, trying to keep her composure. Then, an odd burn in the middle of her chest.

"You don't look that well," Gwen lays her hand on her back. "I should send for Gaius."

It gets better, before it gets worse. Lying down, Morgana gapes at the canopy, Gwen's worried face above her, like old times. And like old times, she feels completely helpless. _And afraid._

"I'm sorry- I'm so sorry," Gwen frets, panicking as well. "Guards... _Guards_!"

Soon enough two men rush in, then stop at the door, looking perplexed. Gwen growls, since nothing happens.

"Get the physician. _Now_!"

Morgana blinks dizzily at the command that escaped her former maid. Her heart is racing. It's as if her throat is closing again. _Morgause promised this wouldn't return. _She tries to think of a spell to relieve it, but it's useless - her own mind is closing on her, making her drown. She's deep under.

Then, a firm hand clasps around hers, holding it tight.

"You'll be fine. Just breathe in."

Morgana shudders, but doesn't let go. Gwen is like a rock. Unyielding, safe. No wonder Arthur wanted her for himself.

"Why didn't you choose me?" she laments, half-conscious. "Why _him_?"

Gwen shakes her head, looking at her, sadly,

"It didn't have to be a choice. You only made it so."

. . .

Gaius arrives, soon enough, a young boy in tow, carrying some vials and a medicine bag.

"What's happened?" he asks, panting, after the three flights of stairs. "What is going on here?"

Their hands still entwined, the two women give him a mute stare.

"Did you have a row? I told you an expecting mother should not be disturbed."

"We were-..." Gwen opens her mouth, but Morgana beats her to it.

"...talking, is all. I think I am having a fainting spell."

The old physician steps closer, checking her vitals, then her belly. His hand feels hot against her forehead. "Hand me the horn. Not that one, _that_ one, you buffoon," Gaius grumbles, when the boy gets it all wrong.

"All seems perfectly normal," he concludes at last. "Only your heartbeat is a little too fast. Make sure you don't excite yourself overly. Get plenty of rest. I'll have the kitchen bring your supper here."

"I'm not hungry."

"Keep that attitude, and you'll faint again."

Morgana's mouth claps shut, pouting.

"So she's well?" Guinevere intervenes, more than a little relieved herself. "Her and the baby?"

"Both are perfectly fine."

A few more test later, after packing his bag and its contents sends the boy off again.

Gwen smiles encouragingly, like she did at Merlin, when he just stumbled here. The similarity is striking.

"A new apprentice of yours?"

"Daegal? Absolutely not," he grumbles. "The poor lad couldn't tell the difference between a pinard horn and a carrot..."

.

When the room is empty, the awkwardness returns. Slowly, Gwen eases out her palm, which Morgana didn't even realise she was holding. They sit for an unsure while, waiting for the other to speak first.

"Are you going to tell Arthur?" Morgana inquires, for she couldn't relax otherwise.

"About Uther?" Gwen pauses, tilting her head. _Are there any secrets at all between the pair?_ "No. Who would it help? It would only hurt him more."

Morgana nods, watching her rise to leave her to the doctor-prescribed peace.

"You don't know how to play your cards, Gwen," she comments, matter-of-factly.

The Queen smiles, indulgent.

"I'm not playing, Morgana."

* * *

Later that evening, two figures ride through the gates. Dusty and worn, they look like two simple travellers, looking for a lodging rather than the King and his advisor returning to the palace.

As soon as she spots them, Guinevere hurries down the steps to greet them.

"Whoa, what was that?" Arthur pulls back from the passionate hug.

"Nothing," she smiles, grateful. "It's just good to have you back."

Merlin watches them walking away, wistful, and brings his tired horse to the stable. The journey took them both too long. Patting the mare, he wonders if Morgana is awake, if she'll be moody over their lost day...

Either way, he cannot tell her without ruining the surprise.

Still wondering what to tell her, he crosses his paths with Gaius on the way. Looking him up and down, he looks... _Worried?_

"What?" Merlin asks, before he can say.

"There's something you need to know."

.

That same evening, when all lights are low, Morgana's body is still heaving with nerves and relief. It's like she's swam a thousand miles and come back safe.

The door silently unlatches itself and closes again, shadowed by Merlin's lanky form.

When he sees her, he is brimming with emotions, and unfathomable. He doesn't know what to say, so he just watches her.

Bending over her, he plants a gentle kiss on her lips.

"Merlin?" she asks, opening her eyes. The warlock sits by her side, the mattress swaying a little. His arm settled around her, she closes her eyes.

"Just sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

* * *

**A/N: Morgana was a bit mean in this chapter. It was kind of necessary to keep it consistent with the way she was turned in the show. Her sudden dislike for Gwen in season three is one the worst discrepancies to fix in fiction. Nevertheless, here is my shoddy try. ****As she said it herself, it was never about Gwen, it was about the choices she would have had to make. Betray, before you're betrayed, right, Morgana? Also, I am not comfortable with the "softening" of Uther's motives and undermining those of Morgana. It's like their roles reversed after season 2.**

A/N: I'm trying to lend some realism pregnancy, with all the bodily and emotional tensions. In fact, it's quite "close to home" for me at the moment, through some of my dear friends, so I am very much aware how big an issue this is and am not going to exploit it. Then again, we are dealing with a magical child, so something "unusual" might come up. Anyway: don't worry, I'm not a mean writer, I just like drama with the hope for character growth.**  
**

Up next: More Merlin/Morgana. And where has Merlin been? Thank you for following and your reviews! Next chapter might take longer time... Lots of work to catch up with : )


	25. From the Blue

A/N: Hey and sorry for the long wait again - real life got on the way, and still is. Also, I'd like to take a minute to answer some of the questions that have popped up in the recent comments. Scroll down, if you just want to go straight to the chapter : )

* * *

_Guest:_ Funny that you ask since the title _A Fair Duel_ occurred to me as well. The story is called _A Fair Deal_, though, as I felt that in the show Morgana never really got one. It started out as a several chapter story, which grew into this long journey - had I wrapped it up sooner the title would have made perfect sense (and is still going to, I promise ; )

In the story, just as in the tv series, Gwen is more likely to see Uther in a more favourable light, because of her closeness to Arthur and having been a witness to Uther's softer side when it comes to his son... Personally - I think both Uther and Morgana's problems stem from an intense feelings of paranoia, triggered by something that happened to them in the past. So, in their own bizarre way, they're making up for something that cannot be fixed.

_Lass of Camelot:_ That's so nice to hear! I've learned not to make any promises, but I'm estimating about 30-33 chapters in total, depending on how long it takes me to write this. I'd love to keep it going, but I have less and less time for it every month, and I really want to get to that ending I have planned for them like... ages ago : )

_MonsterJunkie: _Yes, it's a Mergana story in the sense that you'd need to like the pairing to enjoy this properly. However, it was never just about them, the central idea is to analyse the characters and see how could their plots could have been solved differently. But yeah, Merlin and Morgana are now properly together, and though there's lots of others involved in this story, M/M are still the focal point here : )

Well, that was it. Now - on with the story!

* * *

.

**From the Blue**

. . .

Morgana wakes up with a small jolt. Dark lashes flutter against the morning light and close as she relaxes into his arms, still wrapped around her. Merlin watches her in silence. He's been sleeping in fits, drifting in and out of reality, alert to any changes in her breathing, feeling her heartbeat speed up and slow down again, prepared for... nothing apparently.

The night came and passed without disturbances, much like calm after the storm.

"I should've been here..." he mumbles, playing with a wayward strand of her hair, soft and stubborn between his fingers.

Touching her seems a necessity of late. And it only grows worse by the day. Doing his rounds, accompanying Arthur... He's been an absolute wreck of late.

The blankets shift as she turns on the bed.

"So, _where_ were you?" Morgana counters, and he finds himself under the scrutiny of a pair of clear green eyes.

"Ugh..." Merlin plants his palm to his forehead. Memories of that particularly hot afternoon, the long ride to a crowded marketplace with one frustratingly indecisive royal clot pole rush back like a particularly tiresome dream.

"Arthur had a plan that needed dragging me with him. He insisted on keeping it a secret..." Merlin evades, tired, unsure if he should tell her. It's too early and he's too sleepy to analyse his loyalties now.

"And why is that?" Morgana eyes him with suspicion.

"Mmm, I doubt you'd be interested," Merlin mumbles, his face flat on the pillow.

The satin feels smooth, almost foreign against his skin.

"Besides, Gaius has strictly prohibited any surprises for you..." he grins, seeing her pout is reluctant to disappear.

"Because of yesterday?"

Merlin hums for yes, trying to hide his worry, and... failing, utterly. Morgana gives him a long look, then shakes her head.

"It's nothing. Nothing to do with the child, that is."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I've had for a while," she explains. "I thought it was gone, well - until now."

Merlin watches her: lids half-closed as she lies on the bed, hair fanned out like dark seaweed from the depths of the lake. Despite her apparently calm and offhanded response, his mind goes racing, looking for explanations.

It's what he's good at.

"If it's a disease, I could cure it for you..."

"I doubt that very much," Morgana replies, curtly. "Besides, my sister already did everything in her power."

"So, it _is_ a sickness?"

"No," she huffs. "More like a feeling... A nightmare perhaps."

Mouth tight, she's clearly reluctant to discuss the matter any further.

Merlin frowns, tempted to keep asking - as he would, if not for Gaius' warning last night. Perhaps in time, when she trusts him enough - in time, he'll fix everything...

Then. Something changes.

Morgana stills, breaking out of her revery... eyes widened with surprise.

"What is it?" Merlin jumps up, alarmed as well. "Is something wrong?"

No reply.

"Morgana?"

"Shhh..." she grabs his hand and moves it to her belly.

For a while nothing happens. Then, something stirring. Like a ripple under the surface. Then again.

Merlin gasps, looking up in wonder.

"Is that... is it the baby?"

Her mouth curls, her eyes meeting his. He laughs, delighted.

"It's..." Merlin whispers, unable to voice his emotions. The last time he experienced anything like this was when Aithusa hatched. Except this is even more special. _And so, so very real_...

"You're crying."

Merlin laughs, wiping his face with his free hand, the other still entwined with Morgana's on her belly.

"I'm just-... it's - this is the most incredible thing I've ever-" his words fail him. But so does the crippling fear.

Morgana touches his face, smiling, but it only makes it worse. His weeping openly now, without stopping. It's no use hiding it.

"Merlin?" she asks, increasingly concerned.

_Great job, now you're scaring her._

"Tell me what it is."

"Gaius says," he swallows, gathering himself, "the child... could already - do things..."

Morgana is smart enough to deduce the rest.

"You mean magic?"

"Yes."

"But that's impossible. My true powers manifested but some years ago."

"Yes, but you always had your dreams, remember? And me, I was born like this." He chuckles, remembering some old stories. "I lit candles in my crib..."

Morgana sits back, rubbing her belly. "You think - it could be... dangerous?"

"Who knows." He shrugs, helpless and eyes red. "All I know is that our offspring could be more powerful than either of us."

For a moment, she falls deep in though, weighing the idea.

"Good," she answers, all resolute.

"Good?" Merlin echoes.

"Yes. Our children will never need anything, they'll never be afraid and helpless, like I was."

"Children?" he repeats, not sure if he heard correctly.

"Of course. Given our potential, it would be a waste to stop at just one."

Merlin simply gapes at her.

_Half a dozen kids, running around in the courtyard, dark-haired and pale-eyed, mirrors of her exquisite beauty... _

It might not be such a bad idea.

"Erm," he scratches his head, blushing. "It's..."

Morgana's eyes sparkle, though her tone remains serious.

"It's the least of what we can do for our kind. For the survival of magic."

"Just for the magic, then?" he pulls a mock pout, a slow grin appearing on his lips.

"Yes, but not just..." she draws nearer, eyes rimmed with gold. His breath stops. His eyes drift to the thin gown she's wearing... then up again.

"What do you think?" she drawls, mouth temptingly close...

Suddenly, a loud noise.

Cursing, Merlin jumps up from reflex.

* * *

Heavy knocking repeats. The door rattles.

"Morgana, open up - it's me." Arthur's grumpy voice.

The reality plummets down on them. The warlock scrambles up, looking back and forth, before leaping off the bed. Slowly, languidly, followed by the insistent knocking, Morgana pulls on a robe and unlatches door.

"What do you want?"

"I thought I heard voices," her half-brother squints, glancing over her shoulder.

The two siblings lock their gazes. The situation is vaguely familiar. Morgana rolls her eyes.

"The only voices here are in your head."

"Ha-ha," Arthur shoots back and walks inside.

"I'm not hiding any druid boys," Morgana points out, walking to the bed. "Not this time."

Finishing a circle around her room, he turns back to her.

"No, now you've moved past that to making your own."

Morgana casts him a withering look.

"You clearly know nothing about druids."

"Not true," he counters, studying the trinkets on her night table. "They are a kind and peaceful people. I even hired a few."

"So I've heard. That short of workers lately?"

"Mmm," Arthur agrees, trying to peek under her bed.

Morgana crosses her arms, increasingly annoyed.

"Did you have any point to your visit, dear _brother_?"

"Yes. I came to see how you were doing." His blue eyes scan her face. "Guinevere told me you were feeling unwell."

She glances in the mirror. Her cheeks are flushed, her complexion healthy.

"I'm bearing a child. It's difficult, but hardly a sickness."

Arthur nods, before resuming the poorly veiled search.

"In that case, I'd like you to invite you Guinevere's birthday celebrations. There will be a feast, dance and minstrels. And costumes, if you wish."

Morgana blinks.

"Strange. Gwen said nothing about it."

"That's because she doesn't know," Arthur explains, oddly pleased. "It's a surprise. And... I'd like to keep it this way."

Morgana turns, eyes narrowed, before he can leave the room. "Aren't you afraid I'll spoil it?"

"No," Arthur laughs. "In fact, surprises are quite your expertise."

. . .

"So, what do you think?" Merlin slips out of the closet, the furs and coats clinging to his clothes.

"About the feast or you hiding in my closet like a frightened boy?" she turns, still irritated.

"No, about the costumes." The warlock beams. "I came up with that, you know."

"How fitting," she murmurs from the other side of the room.

"You're upset," Merlin notes, as he walks over to her, clasps his hands around her back.

She relaxes against his shoulder. It's warm and solid.

_But hardly helping._

"The more time you invest in this charade the worse the outcome - for you and everyone else involved."

"I never knew you cared," Merlin counters, in mild surprise.

Morgana shrugs.

"Perhaps not. But you do."

* * *

Gwen enters the council room, finds her husband sitting alone on his seat - deep in thought. On the table, there are papers, documents... Unsigned and unsealed. Discarded before him.

"Is something the matter, My King?" she asks, teasing his face.

Arthur looks up, as if only just noticing her.

"I'm not sure..."

"Then tell me," she counters, and lifts his chin. His clear blue eyes are clouded with doubt.

"It's about Morgana. I think she's up to something."

Her playfulness lost, Gwen meets his troubled look with one of her own.

"What makes you think that?"

"There's been reports of activity in her part of the palace. Someone that guards could not catch. And this morning. She was..." he trails off, as if looking for the right word.

"She was what?"

"It's hard to tell. Just different, somehow. Happy... but trying to hide it."

Gwen bites at her lip, wondering. Yesterday, she was as irritable as ever. "Are you certain about that? She's been acting quite strange since the dat she got here."

"I know her, Gwen. Morgana is my sister in more than just name, we grew up together. I know how she smiles when she's sad and when she knows she's won..."

"Yet, she managed to deceive us all. For months at a time."

"I know. But this was real." Arthur shakes his head, "I saw it. It was like a glimpse of her old self."

Gwen sits as well, considering...

"So, what do you suggest we do?"

"We keep an eye on her. See what she's up to."

"You think she's seeing the sorcerer?"

"I hope not," he replies, clenching his fist. "Though I'd like to have a word with him."

Gwen shakes her idea at the idea of another conflict, and what's worse - with another sorcerer.

"Perhaps it won't come to this. It might still be harmless."

Arthur nods, swallowing.

"Let's hope so."

* * *

"It wasn't the child, Gaius. You were wrong again." Merlin marches into the physician's chambers, not expecting another person in the room.

"Oh..." he stops cold.

Sitting beside his uncle, there's a boy his junior by several years - not quite a man yet.

"Have you ever thought to knock, Merlin?" Gaius grumbles, clearly annoyed by Merlin's recklessness. Then again, it was unusual for Gaius to keep company other than his patients.

"Not yet, no."

Putting down the bowl with poultice, Gaius wipes his hands in his apron and nods at the boy.

"Daegal, you can go now. Try not to get into trouble."

The boy nods and with one last curious glance at Merlin, hurries out of the room.

"You... got an apprentice?" Merlin asks, breaking the awkward silence. Gaius sighs and looks up from his seat, as if only just noticing how tall Merlin is.

"You've had so much work with your new post, running errands for the entire palace..." his uncle says, almost apologetically. As if he would be affected. "My body is too old to keep running around, and I needed a hand with the daily chores."

A wave of guilt washes over him. Merlin gulps, overcome with sadness. He's been so busy trying to protect magic, protect Arthur and Camelot and - most recently, Morgana - that he never stopped to think that his old mentor might be in need of him as well...

_How stupid, so incredibly stupid of him..._

"I'm- I'm so sorry, Gaius."

"Don't be. You've done well, my boy. There's a lot to be proud of," Gaius waves his hand. "Soon - if your dream comes true - Camelot won't have a need for an old physician as me." He smiles, encouragingly. "I can finally retire in peace."

Overcome by emotion, Merlin slumps down beside him on the bench.

"It's just... I never imagined you retiring," Merlin amends through unshed tears.

_It's not his turn to be weak. _He should be the one to support his uncle. He, who took him in, raised him like a father he never had...

"I was already old when you arrived. You coming here brought new meaning to my life," the old man adds, reminiscent. "Meaning and hope - hope to fix what I couldn't when I had the chance... You see, Merlin, your task is beyond that of any other. And as such, you need all the help you can get, not the demands of a grumpy old man." He stands, going back to mixing the poultice. "Besides, Daegal needed work and a roof over his head. He's a good lad, clumsy as he may be..."

With a tight smile, Merlin looks up, taking it all in... The place he used to live. His room, now given to another.

It had been standing empty for some time, and though it may have been meant for patients and lately, as a storage room, somehow it still seemed to belong to him. It's where he began to learn about magic, where he rejoiced and despaired about his destiny, the only place he knew he could hide from the world. His first home away from home. It's as if suddenly, it's been taken from him.

Which is ridiculous, since his pact to leave Camelot with Morgana would mean losing that and much, much more, should he fail to convince Arthur. Or Morgana. Whichever happens, his lies will have to end, their destiny revealed... Soon. So soon.

And he's far from ready.

. . .

"So," Gaius interrupts, stopping the wave of panic building up inside him. "What is it you came to tell me that couldn't wait?"

Merlin looks up. _Right_. _One problem at a time._

"It's not the pregnancy that caused the distress to Morgana. She said it began years ago."

"Oh. Did she also say what it was?"

"She mentioned Morgause, so I assume it's something from when was missing from Camelot - the first time."

Gaius hums, remembering.

"I can't imagine how. When Gwen described what happened, she said it was as if Morgana was drowning. Like the air was water, and no breath was enough."

For a second, Merlin's heart drops, his mouth gone dry, suddenly seeing the connection. After she left... The lack of air.

"Hemlock... The poison."

A wizened hand lands on his shoulder, pressing gently. Reassuringly.

"Do not blame yourself for the past, my boy. What's done is done. You can only look forward."

"I never thought-" he whispers, reeling as he pulls back a little. "I assumed... I _hoped_ she'd come out of it unharmed. That all the evil was Morgause's doing. Instead, it's..."

"...an imagined recreation of a past trauma. It's nothing you could've intended or foreseen."

"But still. It was me. It's my fault she's like that."

"Did she tell you that?"

"No. In fact, she tried to hide it."

"Strange."

"She does not want to remember that, I think. We've been getting along well - lately," Merlin admits, shyly. Gaius barely reacts. Merlin swallows.

"I told her I love her."

Gaius stills, eyes bulging wider.

He asks then, with an odd tremor in his voice, "And does she return your feelings?"

Merlin looks up, elated and desperate at once. Like she's the key to open all doors. Or shut them all, if she wanted.

"I hope - one day."

* * *

After a long lunch with Gaius, Merlin returns to his work in the palace, nearly bumping into the Queen.

"What's the hurry, Merlin?" Gwen asks, laughing as he regains his balance

"Guinevere." He bows. Then smiles at the girl. Medium blond hair and pale face, she looks at them both in surprise. He's seen Gwen as his friend too long he forgets how cordial he might seem to others.

Gwen stands aside, to introduce them.

"Meet Sefa, Morgana's new handmaid."

Merlin's eyes snap back to focus. This could be important. And possibly... very inconvenient.

Eager to start off on a right foot, he extends his hand for a friendly shake. "I'm Merlin, Arthur's advisor. Though if he says supervisor, don't get confused... He still means me."

"I see." Sefa curtseys. "Nice to meet you... Merlin."

"I'm just showing her around the castle," Gwen explains, helpful. Nodding again, Merlin excuses himself and continues on his way.

Yet, rushing down the stairs he can't help wondering how they found her. And why did she agree while so many others refused...

And how will she fare under Morgana, shy as she is?

Or perhaps it's not such a lost case... On her embroidered green apron, he recognized some of the knotwork. Ancient blessings and prayers in runes and symbols - meaningless to most of those living in Camelot since the Great purge, yet highly significant amongst the followers of the Old Religion. Particularly the more secluded ones...

Merlin stops, remembering the tents and makeshift dwellings in the forest. Hidden from the sight, far from the city.

_What would a druid be looking for in Camelot?_

Shaking his head, Merlin returns to finish his errands. _And,_ _maybe, see Morgana._

* * *

**A/N:**** So, I hope this explained Morgana's panic attack in the previous chapter. I wish the show had explored some long term psychological effects of her time in Camelot. What if her current behaviour is mainly a "coping mechanism" rather than just "turning evil" and if so... what would be the alternative? ... Also, Arthur being insightful - not too out of character, I hope : P**

Up Next: The feast, and an old "friend" showing up again. We're slowly heading closer to the end, but there's still several more chapters left. As always thank you for commenting, your feedback is very helpful for me : )


	26. From the Need

A/N: Hey - a late update yes, but to make up for it, I've written all the remaining chapters and will be posting them within the next week, as soon as I'm done editing and spell-checking them.

So, stay tuned and enjoy the last bits of the ride : )

* * *

.

**From the Need**

. . .

_First, there is the stench. That sort of stale sickness that endures and lasts, one you can become numb to but never forget. Flailing her arms around her blindly, Morgana realises she's shackled to a wall. Pain claws and winds around her wrists in a persistent throbbing sting. __Touching the iron, she prepares a spell... then stops -_

_Sounds - not entirely human, yet too strange to belong to any bird or animal she knows - echo within the confined space._

_____________Looking around, she sees something stir in the dark... something white and small. And terrified. __Tentatively, Morgana reaches out to it. _

_A latch opens. Light pours in, almost too bright to bear..._

_Without a warning, she is being pushed forward - to the very ends of the chains. A glint of a dagger flashes before her eyes, then searing pain in her side._

_The creature wails, helplessly... Something closes around__ her throat - broad, heavy hands, slick with blood..__._

_A man's voice, slow and cruel, chuckles at her ear._

_"This is it, sorceress." His foul breath brushes her neck. "It's over."_

_._

Nighttime. Curtains - white like untouched snow - sway gently in the breeze. The slender arc of her window glows through the screen.

Morgana sits up. The room is quiet. Her bed... empty.

It was all a dream.

_A dream, or a vision?_

With Merlin missing from her side, there's really no one to ask.

_A regrettably regular occurrence of late..._

Ever since she got a servant and the preparations for the feast began, their time together has dwindled from sparse hours to rare moments before dawn. He still comes and goes, though - oftentimes unnoticed - when she's already asleep, and sneaks out before dawn, leaving but a hollow dent on the bed.

She's tried to fight it, she did. That disconcerting feeling growing every night. That strange anxiety.

Without him close, it's been invading her dreams at night, or in the broad daylight, turning into voices in her head.

_Morgana_, they say._ Morgana, Morgana. Morgana..._

Except now, these voices have a shape. And a dreadful one at that.

* * *

Guards fall asleep on their watch. Doors unlock and close without a mark.

The tunnel stretches and winds, delving underground, then resurfaces again - far, far away from Camelot. Far enough to use magic.

Digging into her pouch, Morgana pulls out a pendant. The last gift from Finna - the wise woman at the Temple, before she was slain.

The crystal flickers on Morgana's palm, just as it did in hers, and for a moment, she is lost in grief.

Focusing her attention back on the present, Morgana recalls her dream and casts a spell. A whirlwind rips around her, throwing around branches and loose foliage.

In a blink of an eye Morgana finds herself in the old battleground. Thick green grass bends over it, hiding all marks of scuffle underneath, where earth is soaked with blood - hers among it - though the rains keep washing it deeper and deeper...

Standing before the stump of the tree she last saw the white dragon, she considers the sanity of what she's about to try.

_It's a long shot. But the only one she's got._

"Dragon!"

Thin and brittle, her voice is a far cry from the roar emitted by Merlin... It falls pathetically short, breaking and crackling in the wind.

Morgana pulls the cloak tighter around her, feeling oddly exposed. No longer hidden by the darkness.

She tries again.

This time, the treetops shudder. Then - nothing. Just the wind howling by.

Disappointed, and refusing to make a fool out herself for the third time, she turns to go.

.

On her way back, she crosses the path by a clear stream leading to the place where the springs pool into a hollow between the rocks. The place she's been reluctant to visit ever since all those terrible futures were revealed to her.

Pushing away her fears, Morgana takes the path and walks over to the waterhole to gaze into its reflection. Stars glint in its cool mirror. In the water, the moon is wide and round, simmering on the surface.

Slowly, as she looks, the blanket of darkness grows, stretching over the sky like giant pair of wings.

A gust of wind ruffles at her skirts, the hood of her cloak, blurring the image.

Straightening, she looks up from the pool and sees...

A dragon, the size of a small castle, landing on the rocks above.

Morgana stares at him, struck speechless.

"Not the one you were expecting, am I?" the beast cooes cruelly, eyes glowing like molten gold.

Regaining her bearing, Morgana ventures a step closer.

"Did- did I summon you?"

"_You_?" The dragon laughs. Actually laughs. "It takes a Dragonlord to command me. I came because I chose to."

"Then how...?"

The spiked tail wags moodily like that of a giant cat. The impression makes him less threatening somehow.

"All Dragonlords are our kin, manifested or not. We can always sense their presence... their gift... passed from father to son."

"But I'm..."

"... no Dragonlord," the dragon repeats, enjoying the riddles perhaps too much.

She's about to ask again, before it strikes her... _Of course._ Her hands drop to her midsection.

"Merlin..."

"Yes." The beast sighs, rueful. "And your son, who you're bearing - much to my grief."

Morgana laughs, incredulous, crossing her arms. _The insolence of this beast... -_

"If you despise me so much, why bother to come here?"

"In desperate times, even foes come together to avert an utter destruction..."

"Are you willing to help me or not?" Morgana questions, tired of the games.

"Depends." He tilts his reptilian head, studying her closely. "Are you willing to listen?"

* * *

After working well into the morning the great hall is almost finished. Dozens of workers scurry to and fro, carrying piles of cloth, wood and ladders, cleaning the hall from the remaining rubble. Not bad, considering that mere days ago it seemed that only magic could make this jigsaw come together.

But no success comes without a sacrifice.

Merlin's been stealing hours from his work, then again his sleep... dividing his allegiances by the times of day.

- Not that it stopped him from looking for Morgana at random points in the afternoon, gravitating towards her chambers like an anchor to the bottom of the sea.

_Slowly, inevitably so._

Sometimes, he misses being a lowly servant. With just one secret to keep. With the Lady Morgana so hopelessly beyond his reach that ogling her from the distance could have hardly be seen as a threat.

In the middle of this brooding, Gwaine walks up and to sit next to him, causing him to jump. The knight smiles, amused.

"Something troubling you, my friend?"

Merlin shrugs, looking away. "No. Just work and the usual...you know."

"I do," Gwaine agrees and stretches his legs with no care in the world.

High above them, in the upper gallery, Morgana is passing by, without noticing either of them. The air escapes his lungs as she leaves just the same, and moodily, Merlin turns back to the list in his hand.

"You know what..." his friend observes. "Given the effort it takes you to keep it secret, you might as well let him know..."

"You mean Arthur?" Merlin's heart skips a beat.

"Yes. Tell him. Trust me, he'd be much happier it being you than some all-mighty wizard like she claimed."

Merlin thinks for a second.

_Could he do it? Revealing parts of the truth, while keeping the rest of the charade? - _More likely, the whole lie will collapse.

"It wouldn't work," he states, ending the discussion.

_Besides, Morgana will never let him get away with that._

. . .

The workers paid and sent off in secret, Merlin goes to find the King, returning from the trip designed to keep the Gwen away from the preparations.

"How did it go? Does she suspect anything?" Merlin worries, striding beside him down the hallways.

"No," Arthur winks. "She thought the picnic was all the surprise I had in store."

"Wouldn't blame her," he jokes with his sleep-deprived mind.

It seems as if Arthur is about to let it slide, before he marches straight towards the grand hall. Merlin can but strut in his wake, five paces behind.

"Are you sure you want to see now, I mean... It's not completely-"

Arthur opens the doors...

"- ready."

Gone are the ladders and the dust and confusion. Plates of silver are set up for the feast. Candle sticks are polished to perfection. The floor shines, reflecting the decorations hanging from the walls... in the ceiling...

"Do you like it?" Merlin asks as he stands behind him, as the King stares in open-mouthed marvel at the wreaths and bows. The whole room smells like fruit and late-blooming flowers. An elaborate structure of decorations is set up in the middle, forming a garland arch above the empty thrones. It's hard to believe it's even the same room.

"Might as well be a fertility rite," Arthur replies, after a while. Merlin laughs, pleased.

"I take it as a compliment."

"You should," he says. Then, with unusual affection, pats his shoulder. "Good job Merlin, you've outdone yourself."

* * *

"Where are you taking me?" Gwen asks, climbing up the stairs. "Is it another surprise?"

"I suppose you can say that," Arthur replies, deadpan, as they come to a halt in the middle of the turret, facing the balcony on the higher sides of the castle.

"What does that mean?" she looks back at him, confused.

"Just, see yourself... and tell me what you think."

Curious despite herself, Gwen obliges and looks through the narrow window in the wall.

There's just Merlin, standing in the sun, chatting amiably with a lady of court, seated on the bench, hands in her lap.

It takes a moment before she realises...

The woman is Morgana. Casting one of those looks she would use to disarm men, back in the day. Only this time, the recipient is not some high Lord or Sir, but Merlin himself.

Undaunted, he smiles back, scraping the back of his neck self-consciously, then produces something from behind his back.

Something blue. _A flower._

Gwen pulls away, her face falling.

"Oh Gods... poor Merlin."

"Poor _Mer_lin?" Arthur croakes, incredulous.

She remains sympathetic. "What a wrong person to fall for. He doesn't stand a chance with her... Not with the child's father out there, somewhere..."

Arthur sobers a bit.

_Unrequited love is possibly the worst thing to happen to anyone._

He looks again.

The two sit close, without touching. Barely talking. _Yet something is there..._

"I've warned him once before, when I caught him bringing her flowers, long time ago." Arthur rubs his face, wondering. "I thought I made my point."

"The heart wants what the heart wants - there's nothing to do about it," Gwen amends, smiling. "We both know that."

Arthur looks back at his Queen, his Guinevere. He can't imagine his Kingdom without her, how empty it would be. Unimaginable.

In a moment of affection, Arthur bends down and kisses his wife on the lips. When he turns to look again, Morgana has left the scene.

There's just Merlin now, staring in his lap, smiling lightly.

"I'm going to have a word with him," Arthur murmurs, struggling to reign his temper.

Guinevere stops him, eyes deep and imploring.

"No, don't go. Let me do the talking."

. . .

"Merlin?"

Hearing her voice, he looks up, quickly dropping the smile. "Gwen."

Seated beside him, the Queen looks at the same view on the courtyard as Morgana a mere minutes ago. A strange expression forms on her face.

"I have a question and I want you to answer to me honestly," she says, holding his gaze.

Merlin sighs.

_There goes Arthur's surprise._

"Alright."

Gwen pauses.

His mind is too clouded with the moments before to notice anything wrong.

"Do you have feelings for Morgana?"

Merlin's mouth drops open. A wave of panic crashes down on him. Then, remembering his mistake with Gwaine, he quickly recovers. She may not know yet...

Taking a deep breath, Merlin replies, "I- I think so."

Gwen smiles and, unexpectedly, grabs his hands in hers. The whole situation feels bizarre. "I know it can't be easy. Given what she's become."

Merlin shakes his head, remembering the tenderness of their moments together.

"She's different now, but not incapable of kindness... or love. I know there's still good in her."

"Does she feel the same about you?"

"She..." He licks his lips, wondering what so say. The half-truths are about to run out, and he does not want to build up a new stack of lies. "She knows I care. That I'm not her enemy."

"You're a good person, Merlin... brave and kind." Gwen smiles. Encouragingly. "I pray she knows your worth."

"Uhm...thank you."

Merlin smiles, awkwardly, feeling like a wolf in the guise of a sheep.

. . .

"You gave him your permission to court Morgana?" Arthur seethes.

Gwen casts him a stern look.

"Merlin is an honest man. And a loyal friend. You know he'd never harm anyone. Besides, she's already carrying a sorcerer's child. How much worse could it get?"

It's all true, yet seeing him - or frankly _anyone - _approaching with Morgana, his _sister_, fills him with dread.

"I'd rather not find out."

His wife is not giving up.

"You say you want to reach out to Morgana. Well - she will never trust us, but maybe she'll trust him."

"But..." Arthur struggles, unable to match his clumsy, yet loyal servant with the gorgeous, sister. One of his knights perhaps, if anyone would be willing to try. "But _Mer_lin?"

"What about him?" Gwen frowns, her beautiful eyes alight with indignance. "Who better than your friend and advisor. Who would you rather trust?"

Who indeed?

In his own way, Merlin has proven a better man than any of them, Arthur reasons.

But even as he grows used to the idea, another fear starts clawing in his chest.

Merlin wouldn't hurt anyone, but Morgana can, and probably will, if it serves her cause.

"Do you really think it's a good plan?" he asks, finally.

"No," Gwen says, truthfully, "but it's the only one we've got."

* * *

Merlin watches the party take off. Dancers and jugglers, acrobats and fire-breathers. And music all around. The King and Queen dance in the middle, surrounded by guests. Wolves and bears, masks and wreaths, decorated knights and nobles - he finds and identifies everyone.

Everyone but the one he longs for.

Skimming through the guests, Merlin goes through several candidates, all of whom turn out to be someone else... Then, at last, he finds her: hidden behind a raven mask with emerald eyes.

Morgana laughs, revealing her face.

"The King's jester?"

Merlin smiles and bows low, removing his pointy hat in the most ridiculous way possible.

"You're always telling me I'm a fool."

She laughs again.

"And still, not the biggest one by far," she says, glancing around the hall, scanning the room, as if looking for someone.

Another song begins. He bows before her, extending his arm. "May I have this dance, My Lady?"

Too surprised to refuse, she allows herself to be pulled in the middle of the crowd.

"Aren't you afraid to be seen with me?" she gapes at him in disbelief.

"Doing what? Dancing with you?" he smiles, holding her hand securely in his.

"You never know..." She grins. "I might put you under a spell."

"Too late."

Guests clap as couples twirl on the dance floor, the King and Queen among them. A pained smile flickers over Arthur's face when he's eyes sees them, before looking away.

"What are you up to?" Morgana frowns, suspicious, as she sees no further reaction from the King.

"I might ask the same thing," Merlin mutters, removing a piece of branch from her hair, then looks down at her feet.

Her hemline is clean, but her boots are caked with dirt.

Morgana opens her mouth, preparing an excuse...

Then, amidst all this merriment: a loud snap, a bolt whistles through the air, then another one, hitting the back of one of the chairs.

Morgana looks for the culprit, but Merlin beats her to it-

.

The man floats in the air, before hitting the ground. A crossbow clatters on the floor.

All music stops, giving way to deathly silence...

* * *

**A/N: I've always wanted Kilgharrah and Morgana to meet. Also, it's kind of ridiculous how few decent allies Morgana has had throughout the whole series. Perhaps Morgause's war-mindedness tainted her reputation from the start, but then again, Merlin had none to begin with, other than the prophecy he might come to fulfil... Just saying.**

Up Next: What does Morgana know? Sorry to leave this on such a cliffhanger, but this chapter is too long already. Next one is on the way! : )


	27. To the Old

A/N: Update. Two more to go, plus an epilogue : )

* * *

.  
**To the Old**

. . .

Swords drawn, soldiers rush to aid their King, standing before his Queen, to shield her from any further attack. The rest of the hall remains in shock.

The man on the floor is not moving.

"What in the name of Camelot is this?" Arthur demands when nothing happens.

Sir Leon walks over to the nameless assassin and turns him over: there's no cuts or bruises, no other injuries to be seen. His hand is still clutching his weapon, his eyes: blank and lifeless. The death, from whichever cause, seems to have arrived within split seconds.

"What did that?" Arthur murmurs, horrified.

Merlin curses himself, silently. He had acted fast, without thinking. And though he managed to save Arthur's life for the umpteenth time... there's no way on earth they're going to let it slide.

The King turns to his advisor, equally quiet.

For what could he possibly say?

_The impact from the fall? A poisoned dart?_ It still won't explain the man hanging in the air for a split moment before hitting the floor the way he did.

Merlin's mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.

_Now... now is the time... _Morgana's eyes delve into him, urging him to come forward.

_No,_ Merlin argues. _Not like this... _

They'd only be afraid.

"It was magic," a voice announces. "It was magic that saved you."

Merlin swallows. The crowd parts and all eyes turn to... Morgana.

* * *

Outside the hall, Arthur finds a trail of dead guards. Apparently, several more men have fallen prey to this attack.

Merlin kneels, checking their vitals. "Some of them are still breathing, but barely."

"Have them brought to Gaius. They still have a chance," Arthur says, though the gloom on his face tells a different story.

Large table cloths are wrapped around spears, forming a makeshift stretcher.

The court watches on as the men are carried off in silence.

"First my wedding, now this," Arthur muses. "Perhaps we should stop having feasts in Camelot altogether..."

"We have manned every possible exit," Leon assures. "They won't get away."

"Yes," Elyan agrees... "but the real question is - how did they get in?"

Once again, Morgana feels eyes on her. Several glances... here and there, though nothing is said. Arthur pretends not to notice.

"Comb every tunnel, search the catacombs... I want the assailants caught," he commands, marching towards the tunnels. "Dead or alive."

.

Looking around for Morgana, Merlin sees her walk away briskly.

"Wait."

Catching up with her, he finds her face twisted with silent anger.

"Don't take it personally."

"What? You saw how they looked at me..."

"No one said you did it."

"They might as well." She smiles, wrily. "Everyone's thinking that."

"I don't," Merlin assures. "And neither does Arthur."

"That leaves just the rest of Camelot, then."

Merlin sighs. Elyan does not trust Morgana... suspecting it was her who betrayed him to Cenred. And the rest are just as unforgiving. Many people have died... and lives aren't easy to forget._  
_

"Given your reputation here, it's natural for them to be suspicious."

"I'll never know what you see in them."_  
_

"Everything takes time. You must find a way to regain their trust."

"Must I?" Morgana huffs. "I don't have time for that. Coming winter our son will be born... I'll be damned if I let him grow up in this place."

"What did you say?"

"I will not let them treat him like an outsider, I w-"

"No," Merlin interrupts her. "You said 'son'. It can just as well be a girl."

"No," Morgana repeats, adamant. "It's not."

Merlin can't quite wrap his head around it.

"How do you know?"

"A bird told me," she says and walks off.

_A bird? _Merlin wonders, lingering behind-...

_Kilgharrah._

_._

Cursing softly, Merlin jogs to catch up with her.

"You met the Dragon?"

"Yes. And what a pleasant creature that is."

"I know... He's always been difficult..."

"Always?" She stops, abruptly. "How long have you been consulting that sordid old beast?"

Merlin halts, not knowing what exactly Kilgharrah told her. He goes for the truth.

"I've known him since first I arrived here. Uther had him chained underneath the castle. He's been a great help to me... most of the time."

"I see. Did he put this dream in your head, about Arthur and Albion?"

"It's more than a dream. It's my destiny."

"Anything can become a prophecy if repeated enough times. That, and some planning..."

"He wants what's best for the people."

"Was that what he was doing then - attacking the city?"

"That was a mistake. I made him stop as soon as I received my powers..."

"As a Dragonlord?"

"Yes." Merlin adds sombrely.

_Losing Morgana. Dragon's attack. His father dying the morning after... It was easily the worst week in his life._

"You don't look that thrilled," Morgana observes. "It's a rare gift, many would want your powers."

"It's not so much a power as a guardianship... a kind of knowledge, passed on from father to son. I barely knew mine. He was killed before he could teach me."

Morgana looks at him, different. A glimpse of compassion, rooted deep in losses of her own.

"I'm sorry ... I didn't know."

"Well..." Merlin shrugs. _He never told anyone about it. Not even with Gaius._

"No one does. Just you."

* * *

For the remainder of the night Merlin spends working in the sickbay, tending the injured, numbering nearly two dozen. The room is full of people, servants and workers alike, bringing fresh cloth and water.

Gaius scurries between the beds, distributing sedatives, Daegal in tow.

_Merlin is all but present._

There's more than enough to keep him busy... yet, he can't think of anything else but the earlier conversation.

His having a son. _A son. _Both joy and apprehension flicker over his face, as he considers the boy's future.

_He will not have an easy life._

Aside from being a potential heir to the throne, he will also continue the heritage as the last Dragonlord. With all the duties and power that entails.

_He'll even have control over Kilgharrah._

_._

Later that night, when the situation has stabilised, Merlin finds his uncle napping on a chair in his chambers. He moves away silently, deciding not to disturb him.

Blinking slowly, Gaius opens his eyes.

"Merlin? Where are you going?" the old man questions, groggy and confused.

Merlin stops, looking back

"To get some answers..."

. . .

Merlin growls Kilgharrah's name with all the force he can muster.

Cutting through the woods and shrubbery, he soon arrives at the clearing closest to the city. The dragon is already waiting under the cover of darkness, flapping its heavy wings in anticipation.

"Well, if it isn't you again?"

The smugness of the beast dissolves any calm he had hoped to maintain.

"This will be the last time."

"You always say so, but we both know better," the Great Dragon chuckles, looking down at him as if he were a bug.

Merlin's balls his fists.

"You dared call out Morgana, after all you've told me?"

"You'd be surprised to know she was the one that sought me out - and who was I to refuse?"

Merlin stares back at those glowing orbs, imagining all the terrible outcomes of their encounter.

"If you try to harm her... in any way..."

Kilgharrah actually scoffs, offended. "Being tempted and doing something are two separate things, and make no mistake - I am no kinslayer."

Merlin bellows a short laugh. "What about the time you nearly roasted me alive, after I refused to release you?"

"Oh, that? You would hardly be worthy of your title if you couldn't withstand some fireworks."

"My title?"

"The greatest wizard the world will ever see."

"Don't you start again..." Merlin shakes his head, bitterly.

"As easy as it is for you to discard your Destiny, the rest of us can't do the same."

"Easy...?" Merlin blurts out, finally voicing his frustration. "Nothing of it has been easy. Leaving everything I've ever dreamed of - my home... my future... everyone I know and care about..."

"At yet, you chose the witch over them all. Without you, the future of Albion will not be the same. You've truly damned us all."

Merlin shakes his head.

"No, you have - you turned me against her. Always seeing for the worst in people..." Merlin sighs, giving up.

"Dragons were the first seers. I only see what is true."

"No. This time you're wrong."

He turns to go.

Behind him, he feels the Dragon's eyes burn into his back.

"I hope so, young Warlock, for both our sakes..."

* * *

Having scoured the castle from intruders, Arthur's men have returned without having found the leader.

Half dozen men were slain in the tunnels, several others have been taken to questioning. So far, no one has said a word. Beaten and broken, no threats seem to affect them. Not even the chopping block.

They've tried everything short from torture - the one line Arthur is not willing to cross. His honour won't let him.

Unable get any sleep, Arthur is walking through the empty hallways of the palace, replaying the events of the night, when something catches his attention.

The door of the armoury is open. Drawing his sword, he steps in. In the darkness, something seems to move.

_He's here._

"Show yourself, coward!"

Behind lances and shields, a bulky figure emerges. Stepping into the moonlight, he recognises him at once - the bald head, the cruel mouth, and the cold eyes to match it.

_Sarrum_.

The leader of a neighbouring kingdom to the wast, suspected of supplying the warlords that have been raiding his borders, ever since his rule began. Contracts mean little to him if he thinks the ally is weak.

"Why are you doing this?" Arthur questions, pointing his blade at him. "You can never take this castle with so few men."

"Yes, but that was never the plan."

The warlord fights, hacking the air before him.

"What then?"

"You've turned this place upside down, young Prince. Your father would be proud..."

"I'm not my father."

"No, you're not," spills from his mouth like and insult. "Uther would never have harboured a witch, be it his own blood or not."

"Don't call her that," Arthur warns.

"Then how would you have her called? A sorceress? High priestess of the Old Religion?" The warlord smiles with his spotted teeth. "It won't make the truth any better."

Their swords clash again. In the middle of this ferocious battle, Arthur's blade slides through the gap in Sarrum's armour.

Gurgling, the man drops his sword and sinks to his feet, pain and anger burning in his eyes.

"I trapped the dragon, all you had to do was deliver me the witch."

"Dragon?" Arthur steps closer to him. "I killed the very last one..."

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you? _Dragonbane_..." Sarrun mocks with a throaty, crude laughter.

Struggling to speak with all the blood in his mouth, he beckons him closer.

Hesitant at first, Arthur decides to indulge the dying man.

Sarrum grabs his shoulder for support.

"Goodbye, Arthur Pendragon," he growls, reaching for a hidden dagger.

Then, with a dying breath, he plunges the blade into Arthur's side.

* * *

**A/N: Now, this... is a cliffhanger. And the last one I've got. But hey, look, Sarrum is dead.**

Up Next: Can't say without spoiling. Thank you for your reviews. Next chapter up soon : )


	28. To the Test

A/N: Fast, as promised, to make up for the cliffie... A pivotal chapter for Morgana.

* * *

.

**To the Test**

. . .

Leon and Gwaine carry the King to the sickbay. Gwen rushes to meet them. More knights follow his wake, grim as statues.

"Bring him here," Gaius directs them to lay him into an available bed. Within an instant, the sheets are soaked with blood.

"What happened?"

"He was stabbed," Gwaine explains. "Sarrum ambushed him in the armoury. We arrived too late..."

But the Queen is barely listening. Hands shaking, she rips open the bloodied shirt to expose a deep gash between his ribs. Tensing at the sight, she bites back a frightened gasp.

"Is it that bad?" Arthur forces out, face coated with thin layer of sweat, his skin ashen.

Gwen won't say a word. But her face shows it all.

Arthur grabs her hand.

"They'll patch me up." He tries to smile, but the pain is too much. "Right, Gaius?"

The physician does not answer, just keeps adding pressure to stop the flow.

Arthur is but barely hanging on.

"I'm afraid he's lost too much blood," Gaius says, grimly, after inspecting the wound.

"Isn't there something be done?"

Silence.

The whole room stands in mourning. Gwen is devastated.

"I could save him."

A voice in the corner.

Morgana, in her dark robes, has gone unnoticed the whole time.

"No," his brother mumbles, showing actual fear for first time since he's been stabbed... "Don't."

"But Arthur..." Gwen pleads, holding his hand in hers.

The King does not fight back. All that comes out of his mouth are some feverish ramblings.

The knights are silent. As is everyone else.

"We don't have much time," Gaius prompts.

Morgana watches them with an odd detachment. It's almost unreal. _Arthur is dying, and she's his only heir._

"You heard her. Let her through," Gwen commands, inviting her closer.

_All she has to do is fail..._

"You shouldn't trust her. You heard the King," Leon warns, hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Step aside, Leon." Gwen instists, pushing him aside. "I am telling you - as your Queen."

The knight pulls away. There is no more resistance.

___This is it, _Morgana thinks, as he closes in on her dying brother_._

_Merlin is not here. He would not blame her if she failed._

Touching his forehead, Arthur's skin feels cold and clammy... and so pale. - Like the marble on their father's crypt, she's visited him, down there, in the catacombs. Looking calm and peaceful, like he never was. And certainly not in his last minutes...

It could easily be two of them now. Two sculptures. Side by side - father and son. She could live with it, could she not?

_Just another nightmare in the long list..._

"Morgana," Gaius's wakes her from her musings.

Dozens of people have gathered around her in a semi-circle to witness old physician hands her plants used in such spells.

"I won't make any promises," she says and lights the herbs with a spell. The air fills with smoke.

Placing her hands on the wound, Morgana starts the incantation.

The wound grows warmer and responds to her touch - but something is wrong. Arthur's soul is slipping away from her, even as she fights to bring him back, through the numbing white haze..._ Too early for Avalon, little brother ... _it's pulling her, too - like something impossibly heavy - almost too much to bear...

Then, a flash of gold, and it's over.

Arthur lets out a deep breath. Then another. His heart is beating normally.

* * *

Following her grand feat, Morgana stands up, shaking from exhaustion...

It's costly, such magic, but exhilarating as well... _Having power over lives - by sparing them._ _Who could have thought?_

"My Lady, please..." A voice in the sickbay. A bloodied knight, about to lose an arm. A pitiable sight. "Lady Morgana..." Another one.

With the audience's silent permission, she moves to the soldier, and prepares another spell.

The room is thick with the smell of roses and valerian. Gold flashes in her eyes, burning sensation, like molten lava, rises in her middle and pours out of her hands into the wound.

That's another one healed. Then another. And another...

By the time Merlin returns, she's on the brink of collapsing. Seeing that, he rushes out to her, catching her in his arms.

She feels extinguished, poured out, drained to the last drop... yet oddly accomplished, like never before. _Proud_.

And so is he, given the way he whispers into her ear, disregarding Leon and Gwaine and Gaius, and all else around them who can hear them.

"What are you doing? Morgana..."

"Fixing things. Now I know how..."

"You've done well. It's enough for now - you have to stop..."

Stepping into the fresh air, they walk to the courtyard, where the men have rounded prisoner's possessions for inspection.

Between them - a crate, she hears a sound - a shriek of a bird or animal in anguish.

"Do you hear that?"

Merlin nods.

"_Aithusa_."

. . .

"What happened?" Arthur demands, waking up on the stretcher. There's but dull ache where there was a gap in his side. Removing the cloth, he sees a golden glow through the fabric. The wound feels warm and... healing.

"Guinevere - what have you done..."

"Shhh..." She kisses his forehead, hoping to calm him. "You're alive, Arthur. That's all that matters."

"No."_ That's not all, far from it._

He's still the King, and responsible for all their safety. And his beloved wife had gone directly against his permission, against the law itself...

Casting the sheets aside, Arthur stands up, shirtless, half of his side aching and numb.

"Arthur, please... You'll open your wound."

Following the noise outside, he staggers through the doors onto the courtyard, where his men lie stunned on the ground... it's where he finds those two - Merlin and Morgana - with hands entwined. Their blank stares greet him mutely.

Clutching the bannister, he manages to walk closer.

"What's happened here?"

Shards of an iron cage lie at the foot of the bronze statue. Broken by an unknown force. Magic.

_He's not willing to believe it, not yet..._

"The dragon, where is it?"

"I released her," Morgana states, calmly.

Arthur's face falls, last hope draining...

* * *

Fire crackles in the hearth, making dark shadows dance on the floor. In this gleaming show of light Arthur sits in his chair, lost in his thoughts.

"You wanted to see me..." Morgana speaks first.

"If you only knew what you've done," her brother mutters, with considerable effort.

"Spared you and your men? Released a harmless creature who once saved my life?"

"That 'harmless creature' will grow up one day to burn cities, take the lives of hundreds of people, women and children alike."

Morgana swallows, remembering the fields of fire in her visions, the child amidst it all... She brushes them aside.

"As have you, Arthur. Don't deny this. I've seen those shrines Druid's build for their haunted, their restless spirits calling for justice... Yet Camelot is allowed to go on."

Arthur sits down, wounded, and tired. Then rubs his temples.

"I am trying to end feuds, bury the horrors of the past once and for all, yet you keep digging them up."

"Forgetting isn't mending. It's time for you to accept that magic is a part of this world."

"It's not that simple."

"Our powers can be used for good. You all saw it tonight..."

"You're playing with fire, Morgana. You think you're doing good, but in fact you've put us all in danger..."

Morgana snorts, "What do _you_ know about _magic_, Arthur? Nothing but fear and prejudice."

"I tell you what I know..." Arthur murmurs, and his haunted eyes finally meet hers. "I know my mother died because of it. And so did my father... All because I wanted to believe, because I was selfish - because I wanted to prove him wrong. It's a decision I will have to live with, every day of my life..."

Morgana swallows, guiltily.

"So he died." She can't give up. "Uther was no saint. How many people did he have executed? How many unmarked graves of my kin?"

"_We_ were your kin."

"And yet," she smiles, sadly, "he would have sentenced me just the same."

"I would have never let that happen. I would have stood up for you."

"Like you did for everyone else? All those women and children born into magic... I was no different in his eyes."

"It's not true... Uther loved you."

"He loved what he wanted me to be. His humble ward, forever indebted to him. I once confronted him about my father, he disowned me without a blink. Or have you forgotten the dungeons?"

"We all make mistakes." Arthur shakes his head.

Morgana pauses, reminiscing.

"Do you remember, when I first arrived here... when Uther took me in to be brought up in the palace, when people began to speculate..." She stops, watching her brother squirm. "Do you remember - they called me the Queen in the making?"

"He never actually said that..." Arthur murmurs, but can't meet her eyes like mere moments ago.

Despite all that bickering and sibling rivalry, he can't deny the idea had crossed his mind a few times, accepting it as a remote possibility. Long before he grew to love Gwen.

"That's right. He never said _anything_. Had it been left to him, the truth would have never been revealed." Morgana forces out a smile, but it comes out all wrong, marred by tears of rage. "He would have rather seen us court each other than reveal my true legitimacy to the throne..."

"Enough," Arthur stops her, horrified. "That's enough... Morgana."

"Truth hurts, doesn't it?" she reflects, remembering another meeting quite the same and yet nothing like this. As much as she like saying that, Arthur is not his father, after all.

_Uther would never even listen.._.

"He was not always right, but he was the King, and he made the laws. Just as I do now," Arthur amends quietly, looking into the fire. It always seemed to ease his mind, even as a kid.

"Then why carry on with his mistakes? Or are you too much of a coward to make your own?" Morgana responds, running out of venom for her foster-brother turned half-sibling.

Arthur stands up and stays silent for a while.

Leaning against the mantlepiece, he speaks, at length.

"No one here is a coward, Morgana. As evidenced by you being here, inside Camelot. But you're right about one thing - there's been grievous harm done to your people over the past. So tell me... even if I allowed magic into my Kingdom, if I tried to make peace with them, would it be enough? Will there be an end for this vendetta, their senseless quests of vengeance? Can _you_ promise me that?"

Morgana lights up at this small victory, but her brother is right. She's not the only one wronged by Uther. There are many others: whole families touched by the Purge, all in search of justice. There always will be.

"I cannot," she admits, truthfully. "From what I know."

"Yeah," Arthur barely reacts. "I know that too."

* * *

**A/N: In the end, it's all politics...**

**I was never an ArMor shipper, but the thing that strikes me most about season one is how Uther never seemed to mind people getting the idea that they may be courting, even Gwen thought that Morgana might one day become Arthur's wife****. Remember the episode with knight Valiant, Arthur being jealous and winning the honour of being her champion? Granted, Uther had absolute control over who they would marry and therefore stop it from happening, but it's no less wrong to let two (half)siblings grow up misled like that. - I know most likely the show runners simply changed their mind about her parentage sometime before the second season... but still, the facts remain.**

Up Next: Just the final chapter and an epilogue. Hopefully very soon ; )


	29. To the Best

A/N: When push comes to shove...

* * *

.

**To the Best**

. . .

The sun rises, fresh and bright, shining over Camelot, but the new day brings no joy to its inhabitants.

Having found her empty, abandoned room, scattered desk and empty closets, it does not take much for Merlin to piece together what's happening. Except this time, he knows where it started. For it's also how he knows he can fix it...

Following the route he's taken nearly every day for the past five years, he makes his way to upper palace. When the door opens to the royal chambers, he finds Arthur alone, hunched behind his table, mulling over his untouched breakfast.

"Morgana..." Merlin struggles, still panting from the run.

"She's leaving," Arthur explains.

"You can't let her."

No response, but a hand on the table twitches.

"Arthur?"

"You heard her," the King growls. "If she wants to go I doubt anyone of us has the power to stop her."

Merlin watches him take a gulp from his goblet, a gesture so reminiscent of Uther it nearly drives Merlin over the edge.

"How can you be so calm? After all that happened..." Merlin rants, all caution abandoned.

"Don't," Arhur warns, low...

"She's your _sister_."

"You think I don't know that?" The King stands up, angered, and Merlin sees the mask of indifference for what it really is - a hopeless attempt to hide his anguish.

"Do you think I don't know this?" he continues through gritted teeth. "Do you really think I want this, that I enjoy watching her go - to Gods know who or where - unable to even thank her without threatening everything that Camelot stands on?"

"You're the _King_," Merlin asserts. "_You_ are the one that Camelot stands on. - There are people from faraway lands flocking to your realm in hopes of peace and prosperity. It's your decisions now that will shape their future... our future. What the whole Albion is about..."

"Peace and justice."

"Trust," Merlin corrects. "And love."

"Love?"

"Yes."

Arthur lets out a long-suffering sigh. "You're taking it too far - this sudden infatuation with Morgana. Why are you so attached to her? She's not agreed to any of this..."

"But she has." Merlin looks back, eyes filled with resolve, unable to hold back any longer. "If she goes, I'll go with her. Together we will raise our son."

"Merlin..." Arthur softens, "I know you must be heartbroken over this, but don't be stupid. You're getting mixed in powers you can't fathom."

"No. You don't understand," Merlin interjects. "I_ am_ the father."

"The father is Emrys. She said it herself, this morning."

"That's how the Druids call me."

Arthur's face falls, even as he refuses to believe.

"She said he was the most powerful sorcerer that ever lived."

Merlin huffs, amused despite himself,

"You know how she likes to brag..."

Arthur remains adamant.

"You're no sorcerer, Merlin. I've known you since you stumbled into this city. You've been at my side ever since."

"Yes, I saved your life, remember? And I've done it again, many times over, to keep you safe. You know I'm no warrior, Arthur - I protected you the only way I could... with magic."

"It's not funny, Merlin," Arthur bites, almost frightened. The facts are piling up, one by one, but he keeps going.

"I agree. It's been a tragic - horrifying - experience, fighting against my own kin, in constant fear of discovery. Using my skills for good, helping those who would arrest you if they knew-"

"You don't seriously expect me to believe this? Without any proof it's just talk..."

Merlin halts. He could use his magic right now - erase all doubts once and for all - but he knows that despite the bravado, Arthur is far from prepared to accept it. No less to see it with his own eyes.

"The proof was right before you. You saw it last night."

The king's eyes widen. It's as if a light has been lit in a dark room.

"It was you... you killed the assassin." Arthur backs away. Awe, then suspicion in tose blue eyes. "On whose side are you, really?"

"Do you really need to ask that?" Merlin shakes his head, incredulous. "After all those times we fought together, how we went through thick and thin - how we survived when all odds were against us. When Lancelot defeated the Griffin? When the Sidhe cast their magic and tried to drown you..." he keeps explaining, unable to stop now. "Remember how I protected you from the Dorocha, or when you were hanging from the cliff, and my light showed you the way? So tell, me Arthur - does it seem evil to you?"

Arthur slumps back into his chair. Slowly, so slowly, the truth is sinking in.

Merlin waits - apprehensive and relieved, all at all those years, his secret is out.

It's as if a a burden has been lifted. He feels weightless, drifting...

When Arthur finally looks at him, it's as if he looks _through_ him, right into him, for the first time since they met.

"Why?" he asks, voice barely above a murmur.

"Why..." Merlin repeats. "Why did I do that? Why I was born this way? Why I was hiding my identity?"

"No." Arthur keeps staring at him, face unreadable, "Why did you wait so long to tell me this? You were lying to me... all this time..."

Merlin bites his lip, looking around helplessly.

"I wanted you to know. I wanted to tell you... every. single. day. I wanted you to see me for who I really am. But more than that, I wanted you to fulfil your destiny." He swallows, looking around the room, anywhere but the King. "I wanted to be there - by your side - when you united Albion under a just rule, I wanted to serve you..." His voice hitches, fighting back tears. "But I couldn't tell you this. For if you knew, you might have sent me away," Merlin finishes, miserably...

"I could not have protected you like I did."

Arthur stares at him, stunned.

"I don't know what to say..."

"You don't need to say anything," Merlin mumbles through his tears. "It won't make a difference, now. I made a promise to Morgana and I intend to keep it. I just... needed you to know, before I go."

* * *

Morgana is seated on the cart, her circle of followers around her - nearly three times the size as when she arrived.

Seeing Merlin, she steps down from the carriage and walks over to him, all silks and gleaming gold in the sun, and...

... kisses him square on the lips.

Second by second, his resolve crumbles, falls into the dust before their feet.

Breathless, she pulls away at last, caresses his reddened cheeks and smiles...

"One for the road."

_Not just one. How could he ever think just one would suffice?_

He shakes his head. "I'm coming with you. That was the deal."

"No. It was not." Morgana's face falls into resolve. "I'm not staying any longer. You're free, as am I."

"No..."

She watches him, heartbroken.

"Camelot is no place for me, nor a child with our gifts... we don't belong here. But you do."

Merlin blinks back tears...

"Why, why are you doing this?"

"Because," Morgana holds his face, and looks at him, eyes wide and watery, "Because... I love you."

Before he can recover from what she just said, she continues,

"You can see us, as often as you like... You'll visit me. But here is where your dreams lie. If you leave now, you'll forever think of what you lost. And one day, you'll grow to resent me for it."

"You can't know that..."

"I can." She continues, "I'm a seer, remember?"

Merlin takes her hand. It's pale and slender.

"Don't go."

"I have to."

.

"No, you don't."

Arthur's voice interrupts them.

Blinking slowly, Morgana turns around.

"What do you want, Arthur?"

"I want to thank you for what you've done for me, and Camelot."

They both halt, waiting.

"But above all, I want you to stay."

Too surprised to answer, Merlin and Morgana remain still, hands entangled as they were.

"I will lift the ban for magic," he continues, "but not without rules. I won't let it run rampant, uncontrolled, like it did before my father. I need advisors, people with the knowledge and power to withstand it... I need you both by my side. Or it will all fail."

"Why should I do it, what's in it for us?" Morgana asks, before Merlin can open his mouth.

"I can't give you any titles for I we have none of such kind." Arthur amends, "But you will have place in Camelot or a castle of your own as a home, should you wish so. But I promise you this - your son will lack nothing in my court: respect or learning - or knighthood, if he chooses so... These are my terms."

There's a heavy pause. Nothing happens.

"What do you say?" the King asks, again.

Both of them are silent. Their eyes meet in quiet resolve. Merlin presses hand.

Morgana nods.

"It's a fair deal."

* * *

**A/N: It took some time, but they made it. Hope you're satisfied. One more update left. A glimpse into the future, perhaps? ****(Yes, it's just partly written, so this is the chance to voice your final requests : )**

**Hee. I'm a bit impatient when it comes to reading fluff, but it's not all angst and no reward, hey - we ****do get there, eventually** ; ) I guess it's just more difficult to explore interesting dilemmas when everything is working fine... Perhaps another challenge as a writer, I guess : P

So yeah, I hope you enjoyed the journey, and thank you so-so much for sticking with me and urging me to keep going. I don't think I'll write anything that long again, but a couple of one-shots? Maybe. The tv-show is finished, but the AU is only beginning. There's many good fics out there. I hope you'll stick around the fandom a little bit longer.

Up Next: The Epilogue.


	30. To the New

A/N: The very last bit... hope you'll enjoy!

* * *

.

**To the New**

.

_- The Epilogue-_

. . .

Morgana watches her dark-haired boy run across the fields, far away from the encampment, over the lush meadows to the gray stones jutting out from the hillside.

It's the eighth summer since the birth of their son.

It's been a bumpy road ever since. Arthur's reluctance to conquer has not stopped his kingdom from expanding way beyond it's reach, ever since Merlin lead him to Excalibur and he gathered his knights around the round table, armed with bravery and hopeless ideals. A true Arthurian court indeed. Their perplexing quests have been wearing her out. Merlin less so. She accompanied him in some of them, for some she stayed behind, waited for the dust to settle. Not all they do serve those with magic, not all of it is hers to fix.

Their own people - druids and sorcerers and priestesses alike, are still to recover, as much as anyone could, after so many decades of persecution. So much is still to be rebuilt, so much to be restored...

Not that it stopped Merlin from joining yet another one of Arthur's quests, choosing the company of the knights over that of their own kin. Yes. He's just the other side if the trouble.

They've lived together and apart - though the latter times never lasted, always ending in more ardent, lasting unions than before - to the point they stopped trying to fight this pull altogether and prepare more constant and comfortable arrangements throughout their journeys. Perhaps the Dragons were right all along - some things are left to the Fate - too difficult to change even for them...

... or too unwilling to. For their love has not been in vain.

Five times has she gotten with child - all girls save their firstborn, all each other's spitting image to the point that strangers can hardly tell the difference between one ebony-locked maiden and the other...

But the boy, their only son - quiet, yet expressive in strange ways, and oddly perceptive, at times too serious for a child - is quite unusual throughout.

.

* * *

.

It takes long - it _always_ does in these meetings - and he knows better by now than to tag along with his father and suffer through the whole deal. Hence, with a brief kiss and blessing from his mother, he is set to go play in the ruins of the old castle, overgrown with grass and weeds overlooking the crossroads beyond.

Standing on top of the rocks, he shields his eyes from the sun to studie the land where the parleys take place.

It used to be a big stronghold, a seat for ancient lords - now a mere ruin, glowing in the warmth of the first days of summer. In this breathtaking greenery, he closes his eyes and imagines, the lords and ladies in this court, wonders of magic and bravery... He sighs, thinking of all of this, the lands beyond, and his dreams...

One particular vision has been plaguing him recently._ It shows mostly him wearing a green cloak, running trough the woods, fighting for his life... that and, people dying. Friends and enemies alike._

_In one of them he holds the Crystal of Neahtid. In it, Aithusa comes to him, explaining that it holds the mysteries of time itself, for those powerful enough to wield it. She says that no one so far, not even his parents, have tested its true scope._

_The other dream shows his mother, younger and somehow scared, like he's never seen her before. His father is there, too, but he doesn't know him, and he is suspicious..._

_In some dreams he is fighting whole armies of men, commanding life with his voice alone. In some, he becomes a hermit, living as a part of the nature, until the trees die out and stones crumble..._

_In some, he achieves glory beside a crowned head, though he never covets its weight. In those dreams, he loves someone deeply, and leaves them all..._

Some say they're just there to tempt him. But dreams are more than that. Mother taught him this - taught him to remember, while his father taught him to understand and decide for himself. Knowledge changes everything.

_In the end, it's all up to him._

Even as he sits there - daydreaming under the shadow of the woods - sudden noise interrupts him. Wood clatters against a stone, sending ripples of echoes through the valley below.

Getting to his feet, he decides to investigate. And sure enough, he finds the cause of the ruckus:

A boy, around his age is playing on the battlements, striking at the wind with his wooden sword and holding up an imaginary shield. Thick hazel locks, highlighted by the sun, his strong tanned arms flying around - he seems to be the polar opposite of his own skinny self, dark-haired and pale, hiding in the shade.

.

* * *

.

"Haa!" The young warrior swings his wooden sword like he's seen the knights do.

Hacking more vigorously, he jumps high in the air as he does so.

Having grown up without any brothers or sisters or any peers of his age, the opportunity to show off is a rare one...

"What are you doing?" the new boy asks.

"I'm fighting a dragon."

"Why are you fighting it?"

Stunned by the question, he stops his imagined combat, and walks up to him.

"My father is the King, it's his job to protect all his subjects in Albion. Long time ago, he fought the greatest dragon of all and saved Camelot from destruction. One day, when I am King, I will need to prove my bravery, too..."

"The big dragon is too old, and the white one is our ally." The strange boy watches as his face falls. "You better find something else to practise at."

The prince stops, his lower lip pouting a bit. Then, it turns to a grin.

"I could practise with you."

He waves his sword, playfully.

"Come on, pick up a stick. I can teach you how to parry..."

The dark-haired boy studies the piece of wood with a strange smile. Then, just as he picked it up, he lets it drop.

"Why would I need that?"

"To protect the innocent of course."

"My parents never carry any weapons. And they can protect us all..."

"Your parents have Magic?" The prince's mouth drops open in wonder, then - a new wave of excitement takes over. "Can you do some spells as well?"

Wordlessly, the boy lifts his hand. When he opens his fist, sparks of fire fly from his palm, shining, bouncing like petals in the wind. A crow, fascinated, tries to snatch them from the air.

Amused, they both laugh.

Then, shouts: voices, calling down at the path below.

"I have to go." The boy looks back, regretful, as he climbs off the wall and starts for the woods.

"Wait!" the young prince shouts, thick curls bouncing in the wind as he tumbles after him... "I'm Arthur... What's your name?"

The boy looks back with a tiny, enigmatic smile.

"My name is Mordred."

* * *

. . .

**The end.**

.

* * *

_As you see, the status of the story is now complete. And yes, this is the original Mordred, rather than his namesake or reincarnation. Given the extent of his magic __and the properties attributed to the Crystal of Neahtid_, there should be a way to jump back to the past for a while and go back again, once he finds the Crystal in their time. Which would also explain young Mordred's silence when meeting Morgana or Merlin in the series... Perhaps he was afraid to reveal and thereby change things too much? Just a theory of mine.

_The ending is left quite open, though I don't plan any sequels of this length. __I kind of like the idea of the future with Arthur and his knights going on quests, Merlin still orchestrating his rule, and Morgana as a somewhat reluctant anti-hero, either setting obstacles or saving the day, but essentially doing good in the end. Perhaps some one-shots set in this universe, based on the legends of the Arthurian court - who knows? : )_

_._

_Thank you all for following and favouriting and commenting throughout, the story would not have been the same without you!_

_Until the next time._

_All-in-time._


End file.
